


Postscripts

by choc_e



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heartache, POV Fleabag (Fleabag), POV Priest (Fleabag)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choc_e/pseuds/choc_e
Summary: What happens when Fleabag finds a way to talk to Priest, without actually talking to him
Relationships: Claire & Fleabag (Fleabag), Claire/Fleabag (Fleabag), Fleabag & Fleabag's mother, Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 211





	1. A Loophole

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to various LSS members for helping to get this fic off the ground

It was at times like this that she missed her mum more than she could put into words. She’d needed her after Boo had died, just to have someone to comfort her, hug her, wipe away her tears. Her mum wouldn’t have judged her for sleeping with Boo’s boyfriend, just like she wouldn’t have judged her for falling in love with a priest and getting her heart broken.

She’d woken up several times that night, her eyes full of tears before she’d even opened them. Her dreams were invaded by him. She could still smell him on her bedsheets from the night before and his scent had infiltrated her subconscious, making her relive their night together and his final words to her in the most vividly painful way.

The sun rose and signalled the end of her attempts to get a restful night. She sat on the edge of her bed, gently gazing out of the window with her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. The sound of the dawn chorus and the heat from her mug gave her a moment’s worth of peace, before she looked down and realised she was drinking out of the same mug that he had used the previous morning; they’d been tangled up in those same bed sheets, still in their perfectly formed bubble of newly discovered, if not declared, love. A wave of pain seared through her, and she cried into her palm.

This is where her mum would have heard her crying and come into her room. She’d take the mug off her, tuck her back into bed, give her his pillow for her to cuddle, and stroke her hair in loving silence until she either fell back to sleep or stopped crying.

Her mum wasn’t there, but she knew where she could go to feel closer to her. 

Half an hour later, she was sat on the bench in front of her mum’s grave, golden statue in the bag tucked under her arm, her hands wrapped up in the ends of the sleeves of her mum’s favourite jumper that she’d kept and was protecting her skin from the early morning chill. She didn’t usually talk out loud when she visited, but she needed to get her thoughts out of her head.

“I miss you.” she mumbled into her balled up hands.

“I really need you right now.” her voice cracked as she spoke. She frowned to herself, not wanting to cry again, but feeling the tears prickle her eyes.

“I need you to tell me it’ll all be ok. That I’ll get over this.” She sniffed away the first of the tears.

“That he’s just a boy, and boys aren’t worth crying over.” She sobbed and laughed at the same time, aware of the irony. 

“But that actually, it’s ok, because he was a good one, and one day I’ll be able to think of him without feeling like this.”

She sat for a moment, imagining her mum's voice echoing her own words.

“But Mum, I just want to see him.” Her eyes pleaded with the headstone in front of her. “And talk to him. Because he’s the only other person in the whole world who knows what I’m feeling because he’s feeling it too.”

She wiped away her tears with the soft wool that covered the heel of her hand. The jumper was three sizes too big for her, but she hugged it around herself for comfort.

“I just want to tell him…” she rested her chin in her hand. “...that it’s ok. I get it. I understand.”

“But that doesn’t stop me wanting him in my life, and it doesn’t stop me thinking that this is all really fucking unfair.”

She sat back into the bench, stretching out her legs and resting one foot on top of the other. 

“How is it fair that a month ago I didn’t even know this guy existed, and now it’s all I can do to think about him, and think about what could have been?”

“Why did he have to be a fucking priest?!” She said a touch too loudly for a graveyard. “Why couldn’t he just have been a…” she searched her mind for a suitable profession, before sighing gently and settling on the only thing that mattered. “...non-priest.”

She rubbed her face in despair.

“Tell me what to do, Mum.” She said gently, her voice laced with the tiredness she was feeling. “Tell me how to not go to see him. Tell me how to talk to him, without talking to him.”

She sat in silence for a while, with more space in her head now she’d unburdened some of her thoughts. There was a quiet within her that she sat with comfortably; a calm she hadn’t yet felt that day. Thoughts entered her mind, which she allowed to linger before letting them go free. She smiled to herself as she realised she never would have reached this state of calm by herself at home.

“Thanks Mum.” She sat forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Good talk!” she quipped, before standing up and gently resting her hand on the headstone. 

“I love you.” She said softly, before starting the walk back to her flat.

The cafe was busy that day, which she was both thankful for and resentful of. Her regulars knew that it had been closed the day before for the wedding, so she was fielding a lot of questions about the day, which kept her busy and out of her own mind, but inevitably brought up memories of him, which she then spent all day trying to bury back down. Getting to the end of the day was like wading through treacle, but eventually 6pm came and she locked the door and turned the sign to ‘Closed’.

A deep sigh escaped her as she rested her back against the door. She still had a mountain of paperwork to complete, and she was a day behind because of the wedding. Heavy footsteps carried her to the back of the shop where she retrieved a bottle of wine and a glass. She poured a glass and returned the bottle to the shelf, mindful that she needed to focus on the cafe's books.

Two hours and the glass of wine later, she laid her head on the table, exhausted. She'd made it through the day without breaking down in tears, but she still felt the wave of heartache wash over her as the last of her distractions left her outbox. 

As she closed her laptop and slipped it into her tote bag, her eyes rested upon the pad of paper beside her. Her hand hovered over it as a fleeting thought came and went too quickly for her to consider it fully. She picked up the paper and stuffed it into her bag beside her laptop, grabbed her keys and locked up the shop. 

Food was the last thing on her mind. She had barely eaten all day, but stubbornly made herself some toast and a comforting hot chocolate, and took them to her room to have in bed.

She pulled out her laptop from the tote bag that was propped up on her bedside cabinet. She didn't even know what she was going to browse for.

As she was considering whether it was too 2002 to look up articles on getting over heartbreak, there was a soft thud beside her and she snapped her head around to see what the noise was.

The bag had fallen over, off balance without the laptop inside, and the force had slid the pad of paper out of the top by a few inches. The fleeting thought from earlier planted firmly in her mind. Her eyes darted to her mum's statue on top of the cabinet.

"Subtle." She smirked.

Setting the laptop aside, she reached for the paper, and took a pen out of the bottom of the bag. 

"Ok…" she exhaled slowly, sliding her feet up the bed to rest the paper on her knees.

The pen hovered over the first line.

"Anything, just write anything…" she muttered to herself.

_ Dear _

She stopped herself before writing his name.

"Nope..." Too formal. She screwed up the paper and smoothed out a fresh sheet.

The pen hovered again. She glanced to the statue, silently watching over her. No judgement, no agenda. 

She turned her head to her other side, to see the pillow he'd laid on. She felt close to him, and the words began to flow from her hand. 

_ I hope it's ok for me to write to you. _


	2. Indecision

That night had passed uneventfully, as her sleep had been more restful without the constant stream of thoughts. Writing it all out into the letter had been a form of therapy for her. When she woke the next morning, the letter was still attached to the pad of paper which was now sat on her nightstand, with the pen on top as she’d left it in the early hours.

She lay on her side, looking at the letter, wondering what to do with it. She felt a lot calmer now her thoughts had been ordered somewhat. Maybe writing it all down was all she needed. Maybe she didn’t need to send it to him. What would that achieve anyway? He had been pretty clear that he had chosen God, as painful as it had seemed for him to walk away from her. Was she expecting that one letter from her would change his mind and have him running back to her? Unlikely.

She put it to the back of her mind while she got dressed and showered, ready for the day - hopefully another busy day at the cafe could be her distraction. She packed her bag; phone, wallet, laptop, pen… pad of paper with the letter still attached. Her finger tapped quickly and impatiently on the paper as her mind ticked over. After a moment, she decisively tore off the single sheet of paper and left it loosely on her bed for her to worry about when she got home later. 

Pleased with her decision, she walked confidently out of her bedroom, intent on not wallowing in her own misery, got half way down the hallway, and stopped. She turned on her heel.

“For fuck’s sake…” she muttered under her breath, scalding her own indecision. She hurried back to her room, reached across the bed, snatched the paper, folded it in half, and stuffed it into her bag.

Considering the fact that she’d now given herself something to worry about at the cafe all day, the day went smoothly. A nice steady flow of customers kept her mind occupied. She only thought of him once, when a new customer came in and asked:

“Which came first? The guinea pig, or the guinea pig cafe?”

She had wryly responded “That, is… a big old question!”

And if she was being honest, she’d also thought about him when someone walked in wearing a blue sweater. And when someone was paying and mentioned to their friend that they were going to pop into a church fete on the way home. And she wasn’t sure why she’d thought of him when she overheard one friend ask the other:

“Do you think you get good pandas and naughty pandas, like you get good dogs and bad dogs?” 

That one was weird. But she had thought of him then too. Naughty panda. Definitely a naughty panda. 

Apart from that, she’d hardly thought of him.

After her usual clean up of the cafe at the end of the day, she sat down at a table to do the day’s takings. She pulled out her laptop, and the letter had come with it, stuck slightly in the corner of the closed lid.

“No!” she barked at the letter like a naughty child and stuffed it back into her bag. “Don’t you distract me now. I have work to do…”

It took all her energy to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her. She’d never found reconciling the day’s figures particularly interesting or fun to do, but it was a necessity now that the business was running well. She’d built it up over the last year to something she was proud of, and she still had plans for it, so she’d taken on the Bank Manager’s advice on how to keep on top of the cafe’s finances. He’d been an unofficial financial advisor to her, and she valued his opinion greatly. 

She typed away, transferring till receipt amounts into various columns. 

Her eyes darted from receipt to screen. 

Screen to receipt. 

Receipt to letter.

Letter to screen.

Screen to letter.

Letter.

Letter.

Letter.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She narrowed her eyes at the folded piece of paper peeking out of the top of her bag. 

Screen.

Receipt.

Letter.

Receipt.

She exhaled deeply.

“Come on, it’s just numbers.” 

The last few receipts were entered into the spreadsheet, and she quickly hit save, not entirely convinced she’d input those last few correctly. She shut down the laptop and closed the lid.

“Alright you little bastard.” she picked up the folded letter, and held it in her hands, resting on the table in front of her. “What am I gonna do with you?”

She puckered her lips and tapped the letter in a rhythm on the tabletop. 

“Hilary?” She turned her head to the cage behind her. “Send it, or not send it?

Hilary squeaked. 

“Well what does that mean??”

“Stephanie?”

The hamster was fast asleep.

“Brilliant…” She exhaled. “Remind me why I keep you around?”

The all too familiar shroud of humor fell around her as she acknowledged her jokes wouldn’t solve her problems. She ran the paper through her fingers as she thought. 

He had been pretty clear, so would receiving a letter from her make him angry at her for pushing it too far? Was she disrespecting his wishes? He’d said don’t come to the church, but he hadn’t said they couldn’t still be in touch. But maybe that was implied. How else could it be when you declare your love for each other and then walk away.

But, she still had questions, and maybe he would understand that she needed closure in order to move on. At least this way he would be able to take his time and consider his responses to her without the pressure of her expectation. 

What was she expecting him to say anyway? Maybe he could give her some answers, but apart from that, more words to torture herself with? More thoughtful but heartbreaking words? He might not even respond. That would be the worst of all. A clear answer, for sure, but the worst. 

Though worse than even that, she considered, would be the endless tourture of not sending it and regretting it. You regret more of the things you don’t do, than the things you do, so she’d heard. 

She set the letter down and pushed her chair back. Slowly walking behind the counter, she opened the drawer beneath the cash register and took out an envelope. Her steps, heavy with longing for a connection with the man she loved, took her back to her chair. Slowly, but decisively, she folded the paper once more and slid it into the envelope. 

Her mind didn’t stop as she closed up the cafe and walked back to the flat. She could have caught the bus, but it was a nice evening, and her thoughts went back and forth, weighing up the pros and cons, predicting the consequences of each.

The postbox came into view just a few streets away from her flat. She reached into her bag and took out the envelope. 

_ The Rectory _

_ St. Ethelred’s Catholic Church _

Her eyes rested on his name. She had not used his title. The letter wasn’t for the Father of St. Ethelred’s church. It was just for him. 

As her hand reached up, she hesitated one last time as the envelope rested on the opening of the postbox. She reminded herself of the facts. He loved her. He had never judged her before, and he wouldn’t judge her now for reaching out to him.

Her fingers released the envelope. She heard a soft rustle as it landed on the top of the pile inside the postbox. A small grimace appeared on her face as a punch of adrenaline hit her heart. It was over to him now. 


	3. Perfectly unpredictable

"Father…" Pam knocked softly on his bedroom door. 

She had barely seen him the last few days. He'd come out of his room to hold Mass and do the bare minimum his duties required of him, but that was it. She'd cooked for him, as usual, but he'd eaten alone in his room and done his own dishes before retreating back upstairs. 

"Father." She knocked again.

"Yes, Pam?" His words were slow and heavy.

"There's post here for you." She spoke softly through the door.

"Thanks Pam, you can sort through it."

"I have, but I think…" She looked down at the front of the envelope, "I think this one is a personal one."

There was a moment of silence before she heard him move. She took a step back from the door as she heard him approach. The door unlatched slowly.

"Thank you." He said with a soft, but forced, smile.

She handed over the letter, and tried to search out some answers in his eyes, but he was closed off.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything, Father." She offered, but he closed the door with another quiet "Thank you, Pam".

She'd never mothered him before, but good God he looked like he needed mothering now.

Without so much as a glance at the letter, he tossed it onto the dresser next to his door, slumped back onto his bed, and opened his bible back to the page he'd been reading.

He had work to do. A lot of work to do. In fact, work was all he had to do now. He'd given up love for God, so he'd be damned if he didn't make sure it was worth it. He owed it to himself, and to her, to make this the right decision. He had to make it work. 

The morning after he'd said goodbye to her, he'd felt an odd unease walking into the church. Almost like it was too soon; too disrespectful to her to go back so quickly, as if nothing had happened. So he only went there when he absolutely needed to. The rest of the time he stayed in his room, praying, reading his bible, searching for meaning and guidance in a way he hadn't done in a long time.

He needed to shut everything out. He needed to shut her out until it was easier to think of her, without thinking of how he'd left her. Heartbroken and alone, with no answers. He wasn't proud of that. But she understood, he knew she did.

But knowing all that didn't make any of it any easier. He was suffocating under the weight of sadness and melancholy. He missed her. He missed how she awakened parts of him he had forgotten about. His playfulness, his sense of fun. He hadn't realised quite how much he needed a human connection until she'd been the one he'd connected with. He'd found a side to himself he'd ignored for years. The side that wasn't a priest. 

So it was ironic now that he'd realised that, that he was ignoring that side of himself once again. He would be a priest, every minute of the day, to prove to himself that his decision was right. That he made the right choice. To prove to God that his faith was strong. To prove to her that he didn't walk away from her for just nothing. Not that she would ever know, but he prayed for her peace and acceptance.

He would be the best fucking priest that ever lived.

If only he could stop thinking about her. 

He let his head drop onto the pillow behind him and rubbed a hand over his eyes and face, exhaling deeply as he did. The stubble on his chin scratched against the soft skin of his palm. He sat up and glanced at himself in the mirror.

"Jesus…" he winced at his reflection. Tired, bloodshot eyes, dull skin, outgrown stubble and unwashed, unbrushed hair.

"Sort yourself out." He shook his head at himself.

\-------------------------

He walked back from the bathroom with a lighter energy than he'd walked in. Hair washed, clean shaven, clean t-shirt and joggers, he already felt more positive. He dried his hair as he walked into his room, throwing the towel around his neck as he shut the door behind him.

He picked up the letter Pam had given him earlier, and started opening it as he sat on the edge of his bed. He turned it over to see the postmark. London. Then his hands froze.

He'd never seen her handwriting before, but he knew instantly it was hers. Gently cursive, some letters joined up, others not. Beautiful, and perfectly unpredictable. 

He noticed she hadn't written 'Father' before his name. She'd always made a point of calling him that before, but not now it seemed. 

The pace of his breathing quickened. His fingers worked at the seal and lifted out the single page, folded into quarters, writing on both sides. He opened it up slowly, trying to steady his breathing as he did. His eyes darted desperately over the words as he read the first lines of her letter.

_ I hope it's ok for me to write to you.  _

His heart leapt. That feeling in his chest he couldn't describe was back. 

_ I don't know what the rules are, so technically, I'm not breaking them. Let's call this a loophole.  _

He exhaled a small laugh. He didn't know what the rules were either. Trust her to find a way through.

_I won't come to the church, you made that rule pretty fucking clear. But I miss you already,_ _and I thought writing to you might help get you out of my head. It probably won't though. I can't imagine anything will get you out of my head at the moment, but maybe that's what you meant by 'it'll pass'._ _You seemed so sure. Maybe this is just how it will be for a while._

He cleared his throat to dislodge the great knot of anguish that had formed. He had been sure. He still was. It would pass. Eventually. It had to. 

_ I'm not mad at you for choosing God. I'm fucking sad about it, because he gets you and I don't, but I'm not angry at you for that. Maybe I'm mad at God a bit. Ok, I'm fucking furious with God. Is that ok? _

_ I'm mostly mad because now you've made me consider the existence of God, because if you believe so strongly in Him, then surely He must exist. Or maybe, it's that I believe in your belief in God. _

He rubbed his hand against his face as he swung his legs onto the bed and sat back against his pillow. He wasn't prepared for this much honesty in her words. 

_ If you have faith that this is the right thing, then I have to believe that it is. But do me a favour and fill in some blanks for me because I'm fucking struggling here.  _

_ To me,  _ _ we _ _ felt right. I haven't felt like this for anyone, and please, tell me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you have either. At least not for anyone with flesh and blood. Waking up with you in this bed felt like the most natural thing in the world. You belonged here. You still belong here. _

"Fuck…" he whispered to himself, and set the letter down for a moment. The image of her writing the letter in her bed brought back too many memories. He rested his head in his hands and tried to push away the thoughts of them laid together in her bed.

He sighed deeply and looked at the letter, slowly closing itself back up along the fold lines. He pulled the towel from his neck over the top of his head and sat, shielded from the world. He pressed the towel into his face and shook his head. He didn't want to feel this way about her. He didn't want the memories. It made it so much more painful. 

Dragging the towel off his head, he threw it to the floor at the side of his bed and picked up the letter. He couldn't stop reading now, he was invested.

_ When did you realise? When did you decide? I don't know when you knew, but I knew when you walked towards me at the bus stop. Your steps were so heavy. _

_ You were right. Love is awful. It's really fucking awful. And I don't want to do it on my own, but here we are. I'm on my own, and you have God. You don't have to do this on your own.  _

She couldn't have been more wrong. He'd never felt so lonely.

_ I'm sorry if me writing to you upsets you or causes you pain. I'm not trying to make this difficult, I'm just not ready to lose you yet. I love you, I miss you, and I don't know how the fuck to get over you. _

_ If you'd rather I didn't write to you again, that’s ok. Just send this letter back to me and I’ll know. I'll understand.  _

_ Yours, (until it passes??) _

Even through her own pain, she managed to call him out with her humour. He didn’t even notice himself laugh; tears had already formed in his eyes, blurring her name at the bottom of the page. 

He swung his legs off the bed and held his head in his hands, staring at the wooden floor beneath him. He’d been right when he’d told her his life would be fucked if he fell in love with her. It was fucked. He was in love with her. And he didn’t know how the fuck to get over her either. 

He held the letter against himself. That feeling in his chest wasn’t subsiding. It was so intense it hurt.

Her words echoed in his head. ‘Is it God or is it me?’

In that very moment, he couldn’t answer that question so surely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope people are enjoying reading this. Leave me comments to let me know what you want to see in future chapters!  
> There'll be more lightness, I promise, just got to get through the crushing heartache first ;)


	4. Run

After he'd read her letter, he needed space from everything to clear his head. Space from his room, space from his own thoughts, and space from everything in his life reminding him of her. He changed into his running gear and reached into his dresser for his music player and earphones.

Selecting his running playlist, he tucked each ear bud into his ears and reached for the door of his room. The opening bars of 'Jenny from the Block' seared through him.

"Oh for fuck's SAKE!" He yelled at no-one, each word increasing in frustrated volume. He ripped his earphones out and threw them onto his bed with the music player. 

The last thing he needed was a reminder of the night he couldn't deny his feelings for her. 

He stood and looked at the tangle of wires and instantly regretted his burst of anger. If he had any chance of getting over her he needed to take control and make it happen. 

He sighed sharply and picked them back up. Determined, he put the earphones back in, deleted the song from his playlist, and continued out of his door. His feet took him rapidly down the stairs and brought him face to face with Pam.

"Everything ok up there, Father?" Her concern was evident.

"Yep, fine thanks, just going for a run…" he said as he went past her, exiting the rectory.

He didn't run his usual route. Even that was full of memories of her. Or rather, full of memories of his runs when he would spend the time thinking about her. After their first meeting at the dinner, his run the next morning was full of concern for her. After she'd been to visit his church he'd taken a run that evening and wondered why she'd gone there. The morning after they'd shared G&Ts on the garden bench he'd spent his whole run thinking about what activities they could do as friends. And the day after he'd kissed her in the church; that run had been long, and his brain, and heart, had been in turmoil. 

He needed a new route. Focusing on a new park, new people to run past, and new dogs to get to know on his way would be the perfect distraction. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to spend the time thinking about her, and about what she had said to him in her letter. He needed the mental and emotional space away from it all to remind himself and reassert his faith in his mind. He couldn't make decisions about her based on emotions or feelings, because that would only end one way. He'd have run straight to her front door if he allowed himself to do that. She'd said a lot in her letter that he needed to think about, and to consider how to respond. But he needed to do that on a mind clear of discord. On a mind sure of itself.

At the beginning of his run, all he could think of was her letter and the words she had so carefully written on the page. But he forced those thoughts away and concentrated on his music. A few songs later he was finding himself singing along, then he was noticing the different scents of the plants and flowers on his new route. He had stopped briefly to pet a tiny, adorable dachshund and before he knew it he was in the zone; nothing but him and the path in front of him.

A while later, he burst through the rectory door, making Pam jump and clutch at her chest.

"Father!" She exclaimed, settling her breath.

"Sorry Pam…" he held a hand up in apology and leant the other on the back of the armchair, panting and sweating profusely.

"It's ok, I'm just glad you've found some energy." She eyed him suspiciously.

He just nodded in reply, doubled over, feeling the tightness in his chest as he caught his breath back. 

"You know you have a confession in 10 minutes?" She pointed to the clock on the wall.

"Oh shit!" He exclaimed, running up the stairs two at a time. "Thanks Pam!" He shouted down to her.

\-----------------

He had sat through confession, his mind clear of his own worries. This was the first time in almost a week that he'd felt at peace and calm in the service of God. He enjoyed his job, and he was good at it.

The church was quiet, and he sat on one of the pews and allowed his mind to settle on her and her letter. There was no doubt in his mind that he would reply to her, he just needed to find the right words and the right tone. More importantly, he needed to send the right message to her; that neither his feelings for her, or his choice about God had changed. 

Even in his rush to get to confession, he'd brought her letter with him. Now, he felt it in his pocket and unfolded it, reading it again in the stillness of his church. His thoughts became ordered as he read. He ran his fingers softly over her name as he reached the end of the letter, folded it back up, and walked towards the vestry.

Sitting at the table, he reached for a sheet of paper and took a pen from the wonky drawer. 

He found himself smiling as he put pen to paper. It was a nice feeling to still have some sort of connection to her.

_ I should have known you wouldn't let me off the hook so easily. _

He paused, considering what to write next. 

_ I'm glad you wrote. I miss you too. I really want to see you but I don't want to confuse you. I need you to know that me writing back to you doesn't mean that anything has changed. Not my feelings for you, and not my path in life. As painful as it is for me to say, and probably for you to hear, this is how it has to be. _

_ The fact is, as much as I hate it right now, priests can't have relationships. If I could then it would have been the easiest choice in the world. I'd have asked you out over the starters.  _

He smiled to himself, remembering their first meeting and how he'd followed her outside for a smoke, even though he'd given up years before. With hindsight, he knew that was the first sign for him, and in a different life, he wouldn't have felt any hesitation in pursuing her. 

_ I once told you that celibacy was a lot less complicated than romantic relationships. Now though, it's the most complicated thing I've ever dealt with. Celibacy is not simple or easy when you fall in love, it seems.  _

_ I’ve never felt anything quite like I did that morning. It felt right, in that moment. But it couldn’t last. I think we both knew that. But that’s not to say I wouldn't go back to that moment in a heartbeat and live it over and over with you if I could.  _

_ I shouldn't have let myself fall for you. This would all have been so much easier if I'd kept you at arms length. I wouldn't have caused you all this pain, and I'm sorry for that. I hope you can forgive me.  _

He sat back in his chair for a moment. That's what he'd been struggling with the most, the fact that all her pain was because of him. He took her letter out of his pocket again and let his eyes skim over her words that were drowning in heartbreak and sadness.

_ I'm sorry you're feeling so low. Misery loves company though, and I'm fucking sad too. I'm pretty sure Pam thinks I'm going to top myself any minute now. I'm not though! You don't need to worry about me. _

_ It's ok for you to be mad at God. At the risk of sounding too churchy, he understands. He's not going to smite you down just because you're pissed at Him. There'd be no one left on the planet if He did that, me included. _

_ I'm not mad at Him about all this, but I have found it harder to connect with Him.  _

He winced a little as the words hit the page before he'd even realised. Should he be sharing this with her? His relationship with God was between him and God. No-one else. Did she even want to hear about it? Probably not. But the words were there now. 

_ I told you that doubts come as part of the deal. I'm just dealing with the rough end of that deal right now, but those doubts will pass. I think that's what I meant when I said that to you. That all the thoughts and feelings you have about me and this whole situation, will pass. I was telling myself too. This is the hard bit. It'll get easier. _

He sighed and sat back once more. The drinks in his cupboard were feeling tempting, and would normally be his go-to crutch, but he needed to stay clear-headed. He owed her answers, and he couldn't do that properly with a drink in him. He went back to her letter, and those two big questions stared back at him.

_ When did you realise? When did you decide? _

Those questions had sat with him all day. He didn't think he could answer them in any way that would bring her comfort. 

_ I don’t know when I realised we couldn’t be together. I didn't spend ages weighing it all up. There was no pros and cons list. It was just a feeling I was carrying with me the whole day after the ceremony. I just knew. Every time I saw you across the garden my heart sank because I just knew what I had to do. I loved you, but I knew I had to let you go, and I didn't want to.  _

_ You're better off without me anyway. You deserve someone who can give you 100% of themselves. I can't give you that. You should be with someone who can't wait to show you off to their friends. Someone who spends their weekends cooking for you and watching trashy telly with you. You don't need someone writing sermons, running off to take confessions and spending hours reading scriptures and religious academic texts. I'm really fucking boring when it comes down to it. _

Sitting in the vestry had brought it all into focus. They were two completely different people, and their lives would never match up. They could never co-exist and share each other's lives. Being with him would hold her back. 

_ I don't know if any of this helps you, or if I've just made you feel worse. But you should know that all I have done since that night is pray for your peace. _

_ I don’t know how the fuck to get over you either. If you figure it out, let me know would you? I’m in serious danger of turning into a moody teenager and that would not be a good look for a 40-something year-old priest!  _ _ Maybe we should just run away together and be done with it (I’m joking...). _

_ I love you, and I miss you.  _

He held the pages in his hands and read through his letter. He cringed as he reached the end - it was a mess. He was a mess. He couldn’t see how his brain dump of words and thoughts would be at all helpful to her, but he had nothing to lose at this point. He hunted around the vestry for an envelope, then folded up the pages to put inside. 

As he was writing her name and address on the front, Pam appeared at the door. 

“I’ve dusted down all the bibles and prayer books, Father.” She said, eagerly awaiting his approval.

“Ok, thank you Pam.” He smiled at her, and to himself. Those were the cleanest bibles and prayer books in London with the amount of times she’d cleaned them.

“Would you like me to post that for you, Dear?” she asked, reaching towards the envelope she could see in his hand.

“Ah, no thank you.” He slipped it into his back pocket. “I’ll do it later.”


	5. Torment

"I think I might stay in Finland." Claire declared through the phone to her sister.

"Ok…" she replied. "...another week?" She was sat on the sofa, phone to her ear, her spare hand picking and the loose bobbles of her worn socks.

"No." Claire replied sharply. "For good."

"Oh!" She sat up in interest. "Well good for you."

"Maybe I shouldn't. Is this crazy? I barely know him." Claire was already talking herself out of it.

"You should. It's not crazy. If you love him…"

"Um, I don't know…" Claire spiked.

"If you might love him, just fucking stay. Trust me, just having the chance to try is…" She sighed wistfully. "...don't give up that chance. Do what you can to make it work."

"Who made you so wise and sensible?" She could hear Claire frowning down the phone at her. She didn't respond, and a silence lingered between them as Claire realised the source of her sister's melancholy.

The sound of the letter box clanging shut and the rustle of post landing on her doormat brought her out of her daze. She unfurled her legs from the sofa and walked to her front door.

"So how's the sex?" Her words dripped with a sisterly jest.

There was a pause as Claire considered chastising her sister for the intrusion, but then responded,

"A revelation."

"Okayyyy!" her eyebrows raised in delighted surprise as she picked up the pile of post.

"He wants me to meet his friends." Claire attempted to move the conversation along.

"What?! For sex??"

"No!" Claire screamed down the phone.

"Are you sure?" She jibed as she sat down and flicked through the post, tossing each bill and takeaway menu aside.

"Oh God! What if he wants to have a threesome? I'm coming home!"

"Oh my God…" she uttered so quietly she didn't think Claire had heard her through her panic.

"No, I am!"

"No, Claire, I mean…" she stared at the envelope in her hand. She recognised his handwriting immediately. The napkin at the restaurant, the restaurant review in his notepad at the church. She would know it anywhere. Unique, untidy, but in the most endearing way. "...he wrote back."

"What? What are you talking about? Who wrote back? Who did you write to?" The questions came thick and fast. 

"The Priest."

"What?!"

"I wrote to the Priest."

"Your Priest?"

"No, your Priest..." she rolled her eyes.

"Why??" Claire ignored her.

"Mum told me to."

"What?! You're not making any sense."

"I…" she hesitated. "...I wanted to talk to him."

"He told you to leave him alone." Claire stated matter of factly. 

"No!" She emphasised. "He said not to go to the church."

"So you wrote him a letter and sent it TO the church."

"Yes." There was pride in her voice at having found the loophole. 

"You are unbelievable."

"Thank you."

"That was not a compliment! What does it say?"

"I don't know! It's been like the Spanish inquisition in here!"

"You can't do this. You need to leave this alone."

"Why? I need closure." She had stopped joking. She needed this.

"He broke your heart."

"Yes thanks, I remember."

"He left you."

"I remember that too!" She became defensive.

"He doesn't love you. He just told you that."

"Jesus Claire! Kick a girl when she's down why don't you? He meant it, I know he did."

"You're going to read it aren't you."

"Of course I am." She felt the envelope between her fingers, his presence infiltrating her skin and making her heart race.

"Please be careful."

"Claire, I…"

"Please." 

"I will. We have distance. I just need some answers and some closure."

"Ok…" Claire sighed loudly down the phone.

"Ok."

"I should go."

"Ok. Claire?"

"Yes?" She answered softly.

"Maybe just try a threesome, you might be surprised!"

"Goodbye!" Claire hung up swiftly to the sound of her sister's laugh.

She might still be nursing a broken heart, but that didn't stop her from tormenting Claire. Nothing would stop her from doing that. 

She sighed heavily as she placed her phone down on the sofa. The last week had been a mix of emotions. The first few days after posting her letter had been fine. She knew he wouldn't have received it, so she carried on with her days, relatively happy to have lightened the load in her mind, but still with a slight weight on her heart. She knew that would last a while. 

As the days passed, she felt progressively more nervous about him reading her words, how he would feel about her spilling her heart onto the paper in his hands, and if he would even reply. Then she just felt sick that he wouldn't reply and that she'd have to deal with the uncertainty all over again. The last day though, a calm had descended on her that she would deal with whatever came her way, or whatever didn't come her way. 

To be sat there in her flat, with his letter in her hands, she felt a warmth within her that made her smile. She inspected the envelope. It looked discoloured on one half of it, as though it had been stored in the path of the sunlight. She brought it up to her nose and took in a deep breath of the musty scent. Identical to the smell of the bible in his vestry. Her heart thumped and a smile spread across her lips. She was transported to his church, and could picture him sat at the table in the room that had hosted so many of their moments together. 

Her fingers smoothly parted the seal at the back, and she was relieved to see pages of his handwriting. Part of her had prepared herself to see her own letter staring back at her, but she unfolded his letter. Two sheets of his words.

"Oh God, I need a drink." She tossed the letter aside and scurried to the kitchen to pour herself some wine.

Glass in hand, she stretched out along the length of the sofa. Claire's words echoed in her head. 

"He doesn't love you. He just told you that."

Claire was wrong. She knew he hadn't said that just to make her feel better; to feel less vulnerable. She had seen it on his face that he meant it. But there was always the chance he regretted saying it, and she hesitated to read his letter in case he took it back.

The wine slipped down easily as she began reading. She made it through two glasses before she got to the end. She was filled with a strange comfort that he seemed as confused and torn as she was, and she felt closer to him for it.

But it was still hard to understand where he stood. She found herself going back and focussing on the words that confirmed his feelings for her.

_ I'm glad you wrote.  _

_ I miss you too. _

_ I really want to see you _

_ I'd have asked you out over the starters. _

_...when you fall in love _

_ It felt right _

_...go back to that moment in a heartbeat _

_...live it over and over with you _

_ I don’t know how the fuck to get over you _

_ we should just run away together _

_ I love you, and I miss you _

That last one had her finishing off the bottle. He fucking meant it. But as strong as his feelings seemed to be for her, his commitment to God was just as evident. 

_ I don't want to confuse you _

_ this is how it has to be _

_ priests can't have relationships _

_ it couldn’t last _

_ I knew I had to let you go _

_ You're better off without me _

_ I can't give you that _

Her heart sank reading those words, but she knew they were just as true as his words about her were. In some way, she was glad he was still showing his commitment to his life in the service of God. Him walking away from her for nothing would have hurt more. At least this way she knew his decision was the right one. He had a life that was too important to throw away. And he did love her. He hadn't just said it for no reason. It just wasn't enough. It could never be enough to turn his back on the life he already had with the church and with God.

Reluctantly, she could accept him living that life without her. It was right for him, however hard he was finding it right now. But what she couldn't accept was him blaming himself for the situation they were both in. 

_ I shouldn't have let myself fall for you.  _

_ This would all have been so much easier if I'd kept you at arms length.  _

_ I wouldn't have caused you all this pain, and I'm sorry for that.  _

_ I hope you can forgive me.  _

He was torturing himself, to the point of Pam noticing his change in mood, and she could not accept that.

She took her empty wine glass and the empty bottle into the kitchen and brought her tote bag back into the living room. 

_ You had better not be torturing yourself over this.  _

She wrote matter of factly on the paper. 

_ I'm a big girl and can make my own choices. I knew what I was getting myself in for. When you tell your therapist you want to fuck a priest, there really is no coming back from that. _

She smirked to herself. She could already see the look on his face when he read that. 

_ You asked for my forgiveness, and you have it, because I know that's important to you. But you don't need it. I don't blame you or hold you responsible for any of this. At this point I'm just grateful that I met you at all and that I got to have you in my life for a few weeks.  _

_ And in my bed for a night. _

She couldn't help herself. 

She was done wallowing in her own self-pity. She missed him. She still loved him. He knew that, and felt the same. So there really wasn't much else to say about it. Now she just wanted her friend back. 

For the rest of the afternoon, into the evening she just sat with the letter in front of her, writing down her lighter and more playful thoughts. She knew he needed a lift as well. She felt the connection with him despite the physical distance between them. And the time distance. He wouldn't even read her words for a few days, but she had never felt closer to him. 

The message notification noise rang out from her phone. Her eyes glanced across to the preview of the message, pen still in hand.

\- Claire: Have you read it yet? -

She laughed to herself. Claire just couldn't let it go. She dropped the pen in favour of her phone.

\- Have you had a threesome yet? -

\- This isn't about me -

\- An excellent attitude to have for a threesome -

She watched with glee at the three little dots pulsating, imagining Claire's frustration.

\- Be serious! What did he say? -

\- That we should run away together. Would you recommend Finland? I hear it's lovely there this time of year. -

\- Please be careful. -

\- You too. Don't rely on the guys to bring the condoms. -

\- Go to bed. Goodnight. -

She laughed and looked to her letter. She'd finish it off in the morning. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVED writing the interactions with Claire. It came so easily (I have a sister!) so expect more of Claire in future chapters!


	6. Ruined

The bus engine rumbled beneath him as he watched the world go by out of the window. He'd spent the morning visiting some of his more frail and vulnerable parishioners, so his mind was a little preoccupied with concern for them. He'd not been in the parish for long, but there were a few of the elderly members of the congregation who he had taken a shine to. One in particular reminded him of his own grandad; smart, educated, and with an infectious child-like energy. 

The sun was out, so he got off the bus a stop early to walk the rest of the way to the rectory. He hadn't taken two steps before he recognised a couple from the church and gave them a polite nod and "Hello" as he walked past them. Slowly but surely he was settling into this new parish, and it was a relief. Moving to London had been a big step for him, and it had taken time to find his feet, but it had been a few months now and it was all starting to fit into place. But he did have to keep reminding himself to choose his connections carefully. It was a delicate balance, he had discovered.

When he arrived back at the rectory, Pam was scurrying around, finding jobs to keep herself busy.

"Beautiful day out there, Pam."

"Yes Father, set for the week I think. How were the house calls?"

"Oh," she noticed his face drop a little. "Mr Granger isn't doing well. His daughter is worried."

"How sad."

"Yeah." He paused for a moment's thought as he put down his bag and shades. "But he shared his secret stash of Kit-Kats with me when she left the room so," he laughed softly at the moment they'd shared. "He's still got his spirit."

Pam regarded his demeanour; worried for his congregant, but generally lighter in mood than she'd witnessed from him recently. She kept her focus on him as she spoke.

"Post arrived."

She noticed the flash of animation in his eyes before he disguised it by clearing his throat and putting on a face of appreciation.

"Ah wonderful." He winced internally at his unnatural response. It was post, for fuck's sake. No one had ever described post, particularly priestly post, as wonderful.

"I think I'll take it into the garden." He said with a smile as he picked up the pile of letters she'd set aside for him. She watched him rifle through the envelopes before settling on the one she suspected he'd been waiting for. The past two days he'd been unusually interested in the post delivery.

He hurried out of the rectory, and set down the three or four letters that didn't interest him onto the low table in front of the bench. His lips curled into a smile as his eyes rested upon her handwriting once again. The sun beat down onto his black clothes, and he stretched his legs out while he unbuttoned his collar.

Without even reading it he could tell she was in a lighter mood than when she'd written her first letter to him. The paragraphs were generally smaller, the words looser and less intensely written. It gave him comfort that she had found some peace. 

The first line of her letter confirmed it. 

_You'd better not be torturing yourself over this._

He huffed out a laugh. He could hear her voice in those words. It was a clear indicator of his difference in mood from when he'd written his letter to her all those days ago. At the time, he had been torturing himself. He'd spent days in perpetual torment over the situation, and her letter had been the turning point for his change in mood. Having the opportunity to order his thoughts and confirm his choices in his mind had been an important step for him. He'd felt lighter and more dedicated to his work since then, and even though he still spent a lot of his time thinking about her, there was less pain associated with the memories.

He eagerly read on.

When he read the words _'fuck a priest'_ he instantly shielded the letter into his chest and buried his head in his hand with a laugh. She never was one for holding back, and he was glad to see her honesty and humour hadn't been too badly bruised.

He felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he read her words of forgiveness and acceptance. His hand rested against his heart as he felt it within him.

_I'm not expecting you to change your mind. I'm not expecting anything from you. I hadn't expected a letter back from you, although I had hoped for it. Now I just hope for some closure, and that we can part on better terms. I know that I'll have to let you go at some point, but I hope I can do that more naturally, when I'm ready to, and when all this feels a bit less painful._

A huge surge of love for her surrounded his heart. The way she was so accepting of his decision and so aware of her own feelings and needs made him love her even more. He braced a little at the thought and rubbed a hand over his face. That wasn't a helpful step in trying to get over her.

The tone of her letter changed as he read on. A gentle smirk settled on his face as he continued.

_You haven't ruined my life, but I'll tell you what you have ruined for me._

_G &Ts. _

_And whiskey._

_And bus stops._

He laughed and faked a stab to his own heart. That one smarted. 

_And now I can't read a Winnie the Pooh quote without crying. You ruined Piglet for me. _

"Piglet." He whispered quietly, holding his heart and echoing the nostalgia of their moment.

_And let me tell you. That _ _is_ _unforgivable!_

He chuckled to himself and let his head hang back in resignation. Fuck, he missed her.

_I still have your bible. Do you want it back?_

He enjoyed the thought of her still holding onto one of his possessions; that she hadn't thrown it out as if it was one of his CDs or an old t-shirt.

_I would hate for you to get in trouble with Pam for handing out bibles to heathen atheists. Besides, if I keep it for too long I might start reading it._

He smiled and slowly shook his head as he looked to the heavens. Far from passing, that feeling in his chest was stubbornly persisting.


	7. What You're Missing

The sun had been out all week, and the café had been busy. An endless stream of people had kept her on her feet all week and she was exhausted. She was in desperate need to let her hair down, and was glad to have the next day off. 

She wiped down the last of the tables and turned the sign to 'Closed', but left the door unlocked for the visitor she was expecting. While she was sweeping in the back, she heard the bell ring as the door opened.

"Darling, this place is wonderful!" Belinda beamed as she entered, taking in the surroundings.

"Thank you," she curtsied with a modest smile as she set the broom against the wall. "Hope you like guinea pigs..." She gestured to the pictures on the walls and the hutch next to the counter.

Belinda peered into the hutch with a slight frown, still holding tightly onto her bag.

"That one's a hamster." She pointed to Stephanie.

"I know…" she smiled with a resigned shrug.

"Hmm." Belinda responded, showing no sign of endearment towards the animals. "It is fabulous though." Her eyes went back to the room.

Belinda reached into her bag and brought out an expensive looking bottle of wine. 

"Get some glasses, I've been waiting for someone to share this with." She placed the bottle on the table and took a seat. "I'm surprised you called me though."

"Well…" she sighed as she brought over the glasses and bottle opener, "...I don't have any friends and my sister is shagging Finland, so..." She shrugged as she began opening the bottle.

"Who? Claire??" Belinda blinked.

"Oh God, I shouldn't have said anything!" She cringed, having momentarily forgotten Belinda knew Claire.

"No, good on her." Belinda conceded. "I always thought she could do with a good lay." 

"Please don't mention anything." She pleaded. "Claire would kill me!"

"I'm a vault." Belinda reassured, clinking their glasses together.

"So what about you?" Belinda asked. "Any good shags recently?"

"Well…" she took a moment. "The best I've ever had!" She raised an eyebrow playfully. "Followed by the best I've ever had." Her tone softened as she looked into the depths of her wine glass.

"Oh do tell!" Belinda widened her eyes. "This old girl needs to live vicariously through you!"

"Just guys, I'm afraid. No women." She laughed softly.

"Oh I'll take what I can get, darling."

She laughed, eyes still buried in her drink.

"No, it's…" she sighed. She didn't want to think about it. "I did what you told me to. I went out and grabbed the night by its nipples!"

"And?" Belinda raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

"Got my heart broken." She responded softly. 

"Oh." Belinda's face sank in disappointment. "Well, plenty more fish in the sea. Get back on the horse!"

"Nah…" she shook her head and took a large gulp of wine. "...it's too soon. I don't want to."

"Oh God…" Belinda studied her carefully. "You're in love with him aren't you?"

She responded with a timid shrug.

"Still? After he broke your heart?"

"It's not like that…" she found herself defending him. "He's a good guy. It just couldn't work."

"Hmm…" Belinda replied. "No chance at all?"

"No." It came out a whisper as she turned the glass in her hand. 

"You'll get over him." Belinda offered softly.

"I fucking hope so." She reached for the bottle. "But I don't want to talk about him anymore!" She filled up their glasses and moved the conversation along.

The light faded outside and only the light at the back of the café was on. The two of them were in almost complete darkness, unaware of the time that had passed.

"Nine times?!" Belinda shrieked.

"Nine. Whole. Times." She confirmed as she walked back to the table, a new bottle of wine in hand. "Ugh, sorry, this one is cheap and awful."

"Oh darling, who cares." Belinda took the bottle from her. "They all taste like piss after this much."

"Hmm…" She agreed. She was momentarily taken back to drinking in the café with Boo, and smiled softly to herself as she sat back down.

By the time they left the café, the amount of focus it took to lock up was in direct relation to the amount of wine she had drunk. She finally got the key in the lock, checked the door wouldn't open, and slipped the keys into her pocket.

"So answer me something…" Belinda started as their arms hooked together.

"Ok…"

"How… do you get better… than NINE TIMES??" She shouted into the street, her arms raised.

"Ssshhhh!" She laughed and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Seriously! How could it be better??"

"We're not supposed to be talking about him!"

"Was he sent by God to bless you with one fucking amazing orgasm?"

She groaned at Belinda's choice of words.

"Something like that." She shrugged. "There was more than one though." She corrected her pointedly.

"Fair play to him." Belinda nodded to herself as they rounded the corner to the taxi rank. 

"Plus, he had a body to die for." Her mind wondered. "The arms. The pecs. The back muscles!" She cried in frustration.

"Sounds delicious!" Belinda agreed as she opened the door to the taxi.

"You know…" she started as Belinda ushered her into the car. "...I just never imagined a priest would have such a perfectly sculpted body…"

"A priest?!" Belinda slammed the door shut with a face of horror. 

"Yes!" She shouted back. "I told you that!"

"No you didn't!" Belinda fell back laughing into the seat. 

"Oh…" she frowned to herself.

"Tell him where you live, darling." She waved a hand in the direction of the driver.

She gave the address then rolled her head to one side to see Belinda, and they both laughed at the absurdity of the conversation.

"Who'd have thought it…" Belinda shook her head. "...a hot priest."

"The hottest!" She grinned and closed her eyes, letting her mind wonder back to their night together.

The look in his eyes as he walked towards her. The heat from his body as he stood in front of her. The way his fingers gently caressed her skin as he parted her coat. The warmth of his breath as he nervously exhaled. Then his lips on hers. Tentatively at first, but hungry and wanting once he allowed himself to submit. The strength in his arms as he guided her to her own bedroom. The feel of his chest under her fingers. His kisses down her body. Her hands in his hair, gently guiding him. His soft, warm tongue against her.

"Off you go…" Belinda's voice roused her from the replay in her mind.

"What?" she reluctantly opened her eyes.

"You're home. Go to bed!" She urged with her eyes.

"Good idea…" she smiled wryly, feeling the burning ache inside her.

"And listen." Belinda locked eyes on her and she opened the car door for her. "Live your life. Show him what he's missing." Belinda winked at her through the window of the car as it drove off.

She staggered to her front door and fumbled with the keys in her pocket.

"Fucking hell…" she held them up against the street lights, trying to find the right one. She opened the door and tripped up the step as she entered.

"Shit! Fuck!" She muttered, regaining her balance by hanging onto the door and pushing it shut. There was an uncomfortable feeling under her feet, and she looked down to see herself stood on top of the day's post. The corner of a faded envelope poked out from the bottom of the pile.

"Well, well, well…" she bent down to pick up the envelope, slightly losing balance and steadying herself against the wall.

"Hello my hot priest!" She shed her coat before fumbling her way to her bedroom.

She kicked her shoes off and flopped down onto her bed, tearing open the seal of the envelope. The single sheet of paper with his words filled her with a rush of wanting for him.

_Thank you for your forgiveness. It means everything to me. Your peace means everything to me as well, and I'm glad you're finding your way._

She groaned into her room as she read his words.

"Stop making me love you more!" She scowled at the letter. "Naughty priest." She wagged a finger at the page.

_Please, keep the bible. It's yours. I know you probably won't read it now, but I hope that some day you do. There really are some helpful messages if you want to look past the churchyness. I promise they'll bring you some comfort. Think about it?_

"Think about you…" she said petulantly.

She shifted on her bed to shake off the sadness she felt descending on her heart. She read on.

_What I'm going to say next is important. And I want you to listen carefully. Let me say this_ _very_ _clearly..._

_Do not bring Piglet into this. He is an innocent party here, and shouldn't be caught in the middle of us. He needs your love! Don't abandon that little guy._

"Piglet." She held her chest, smiling and remembering their moment, but then the memories of the rest of that night crashed into her consciousness. 

Laid out on her bed, she could feel his hands frantically searching all over her body, moving her around the confines of the confessional, holding her body against his. She licked her lips remembering the taste of him on her and the smell of his skin as she kissed him.

She forcefully stopped the memory before it was stopped for her. The sound of that painting falling had haunted her dreams.

_You want to know what you ruined for me?_

"Of course, Father." She responded seductively. 

_Jenny from the Block. I had to delete that song from my playlist. I loved that song!_

_And coconut oil._

_And black trench coats._

_But I think the less said about those the better._

She raised her eyebrows and bit her lip playfully.

"Oh really, Father?" She imagined his torture over writing those words. "Is my coat turning you on, you naughty little priest?"

She thought for a moment, Belinda's words resonating in her mind, and swung her legs off the side of her bed.

"Well let's just show you what you're missing, shall we?" 

She staggered through to the living room to retrieve the coat she'd discarded a few minutes earlier, and once back in her room she opened her underwear drawer. She searched for the set she had worn the night they'd been together and smiled mischievously when she found them. 

Quicker than she'd done anything the past few weeks, she had changed into the bra and knickers, and put the coat on over the top.

"Right, where the fuck are you?" She mumbled into the bottom of her cupboard and she threw random items out of the way so that she could find what she was looking for.

Her hands rested upon the Polaroid camera that she hadn't used since Boo was around. 

"Hello old friend!" She grinned and checked the film cartridge. Four left.

"Hope you're ready for a striptease, Father." She raised her eyebrow as she spoke to the abandoned sheet of paper on her bed. 

She tied the coat up, making sure there was a deep V to show off a glimpse of her bra, and she held onto one end of the belt. She looked directly into the lens as she took the first picture. The second picture had the coat open, one hand on her hip to show the curves of her body. The third, the coat was slung over her shoulder. The fourth had no coat, and no underwear.

She let her mind wonder as the last two pictures developed in her hands. She imagined the look on his face when he saw the pictures, and what he might do to himself if he wavered from his celibacy to enjoy them. The thought of him touching himself, or even trying not to touch himself, sent her wild. That thought would keep her going for weeks.

She found an envelope, scribbled his name and address on the front, and put her shoes and coat back on. It was late, and her mind wasn't clear enough to consider putting any clothes on under the coat. The post box was only two streets away, and it was late. She'd be fine if she kept it tied tight. 

She crept up to the post box as if she was a burglar in the night, and snuck the envelope out of her pocket. 

"Enjoy the show, Father." She kissed the back of the envelope before dropping it into the post box.


	8. Surrendering control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the end of chapter 7, but it was getting long, and I wanted to unleash drunken Fleabag as soon as possible!  
> Enjoy the fallout!

The sun beat down through the window, curtains still open from the day before. She’d been too drunk the night before to care about closing the curtains. Her bedroom window wasn’t overlooked, which came in useful when wandering around in various states of undress. The heat from the sun had been slowly warming the room up throughout the morning, and the movement of the light finally hit her sleeping eyes. 

Laying on her front, with one arm hung over the side of the bed, she groaned into the pillow. Her eyes stayed closed as she roused from her sleep. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but it didn’t matter as the cafe was shut for the day. She’d been looking forward to her day off all week. A chance to do absolutely nothing. She forced one eye open to look at the clock on her bedside table. 

12.07pm

She groaned once more. She remembered it had been late when she and Belinda had left the cafe. The buses had stopped and they’d got a taxi back, she thought. She couldn’t imagine Belinda getting the bus anyway, even if they had been running. But it had been late. She forced her head to the other side, and was met with a swimming tide of pain in her head. 

The wine. Oh God, the wine. It had probably been a bad idea to mix Belinda’s expensive wine from who knows where, and her cheap bottle from the corner shop. But she hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. A small smile landed on her lips as she enjoyed the feeling of friendship she’d been missing for so long.

It took her a few more moments to realise she was completely naked. That was odd, she thought, as she usually slept in at least a comfy bra and knickers. She didn’t think she’d come home with anyone. Belinda had definitely left in the taxi. Her eyes searched the room for clues, and landed on her vibrator. That made sense; she remembered feeling particularly horny. Her face screwed up slightly as she forced a memory of a dream. A dream where she’d played out a striptease. She couldn’t land on who the striptease was for. 

Her eyes scanned the room again, and not far from the vibrator lay a sheet of paper. She frowned to herself and gingerly reached out a hand as her hangover took hold. She lifted the sheet of paper and saw the handwritten letter. His handwriting. His letter. She smiled, remembering picking it up from the doormat as she’d got home. 

Trenchcoat.

Her stomach lurched. Sitting up a little too quickly than her head could manage, she looked around the room, frantically trying to set eyes on it. In the corner of the room, bundled beside her favourite expensive bra set. 

She looked down at the letter in her hand and swiftly turned the page over to see the words  _ ‘black trenchcoats’ _ .

“Oh God…” she threw the letter down and ran across her room. It had been a dream. The striptease had been a dream.

The coat, the bra and knickers. It had all been a dream. A striptease for him, she remembered now, but it was a dream. She ran around her room trying to find anything that could corroborate the fact that the striptease for her ‘hot priest’ had all been a dream.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She panicked. And then she saw it. 

The Polaroid camera, on top of the cabinet.

“Fuck!” her shout quivered as she grabbed it and checked the film cartridge. Empty.

“FUCK!” She instantly grabbed a pair of jeans and a top and pulled them on.

She remembered now, sliding all four exposures into an envelope and leaving the flat to post them.

“Shit! Fuck!” She grabbed her keys and slipped on a pair of trainers and ran to her front door.

“Stupid fucking idiot!” She scolded herself and she ran down the street, her head pounding from her hangover. The sick feeling in her stomach had just doubled. 

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” she muttered under her breath as she turned the corner and caught sight of the postbox. She ran towards it and held it with both hands as she looked at the sign on the front. 

_ ‘First collection: 11.45am’ _

“Fuck…” She whispered and laid her arms and head on the top of the box. Maybe the collection hadn’t been yet. She could wait until the postman arrived to plead with him to let her take her letter back. 

She turned around and slid her back down the postbox to the floor, head in hands, waiting for the postman. What a fuckup.

“‘Scuse me, Miss.” A gentleman walked up to her, and reached over her head to slip his letter through the slot. 

It landed with a distinct sound. The sound of a letter falling into a recently emptied postbox. 

“Are you ok, love?” The gentleman asked, concerned for her obvious turmoil.

“No…” She sighed deeply. “Could you help me up?” She asked, reaching out a hand. She had lost all feeling in her legs. 

Her steps back to her flat were slow and laboured as she came to the realisation. She had sent him nudes. Four nudes, of increasingly explicit content. Sent to him. A catholic priest. To his church. 

Once she arrived back at her flat, she flopped down onto the sofa and reached for her phone. She waited as the dial tone connected on the other end.

“Hello?” Claire’s voice met her ear.

“Promise not to shout at me.”

“What?” Claire was confused.

“Promise. Don’t shout.”

“What have you done?” Claire accused.

“Promise!”

“What have you done?” Claire slowed down her words.

“I fucked up.”

“OK.” Claire accepted the statement with little surprise. “How?”

“With the priest.”

“The priest?? I told you to be careful!”

“I told you not to shout!” She buried her head in her free hand.

“What did you do?”

The line was silent.

“What did you..” Claire started again but was interrupted.

“I took naked pictures of myself and sent them to him.” The words tumbled out of her mouth.

“What?! Why??” Claire shrieked. “Did he ask for them?” She pondered quizzically.

“No, the celibate catholic priest did not ask me to send him nudes, Claire!!”

“Well I don’t know! He did sleep with you, so asking for nudes would be a backwards step at least.” She scoffed.

“What am I going to do?”

“Why did you send them?” Claire ignored her question.

“I don’t know!” She sighed as a memory resurfaced. “Belinda told me to show him what he was missing.”

“Belinda? Belinda Frears?!”

“Yes, we had drinks!”

“Why are you having drinks with Belinda? You didn’t tell her about Klare did you?”

“Claire! Focus!”

“For God’s sake.” Claire sighed loudly down the phone. “Well you have to get them back.”

“How? The collection has already been.”

“Oh. Well then you’ll just have to wait at the church for the postman.”

“How am I supposed to know when it’ll arrive? I can’t wait around all week, I have the cafe.”

“First or second class?”

“I don’t remember!” 

“Well, what stamps do you have?”

“Umm…” She found her wallet and searched the various pockets. “I have a full book of second class.”

“Full?” Claire questioned.

“Oh wait…” she reached to the floor beside the waste paper bin. “...and an empty book of first.”

“Ok.” Claire’s crisis-mode voice had kicked in. “First class, first collection of the day, within London. It’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Oh God…” the thought made her stomach flip again.

“You’ll just have to wait.”

“What about the cafe?”

“Get someone to help you for the day.”

There was a pause as she thought.

“There’s a regular who has been asking about a job.”

“There you go, perfect trial day.”

“Claire…” She said softly.

“...it’s ok.” she preempted the thank you. “Just please…”

“I know.”

“Call me tomorrow.”

She laid the phone down beside her and rubbed a hand across her face. The sickness in her stomach and the pounding in her head was overwhelming. She laid out on the sofa and pulled a blanket over herself. What the fuck had she done. All she could do now was wait, and surrender her control. 

His bible had been sat on her coffee table for the past few weeks. She hadn’t brought herself to pick it up since the night she had last seen him, but she considered it now. At the very least, she hoped that if God did in fact exist, it would be in both their interests if the pictures never made it into his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is not far away..!


	9. Control

The cafe was pristine. She’d got there early to make sure everything was ready for Daisy, who had thankfully agreed to help with only half a day’s notice. She’d asked her to arrive for 7.30am, which was way too early to open, but she could give her a quick induction and then leave the keys with her. She was a regular, so knew her way around and would recognise most of the customers, so she wouldn’t need much help getting started.

Except it was 7.45am and she hadn’t arrived. The sound of the keys incessantly jangling in her hands bounced off the walls, feeding her anxiety. She had no idea what time the church received it’s postal delivery, and if she had it her way she’d have been there at 6am, but Daisy had said 7.30am was the absolute earliest she could make it. 

“Come on…” she muttered, tapping her foot on the floor, before standing up and peering out of the window. She saw a figure running down the road towards her.

“Thank fuck.” She said to herself, checking her watch quickly before opening the door.

“I am so, so sorry, the bus was running late. There’s an accident a few streets away so I got off and ran here!” The girl explained hurriedly as she panted to catch her breath.

“That’s fine, you’re here now!” She placed both hands on the girl’s shoulders, and walked her behind the counter to show her how the cash register worked.

“The rest of it you’ll figure out easily enough!” She practically threw the keys at her. “Open up at ten-thirty, and Joe won’t be long after that. I’m sure he’ll give you a hand if you need it.” She grabbed her bag from the counter and headed for the door.

“When will you be back?” Daisy asked desperately.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know! My number is on the noticeboard in the back if you need it.” She opened the door and rushed out. “But you’ll be great!” she shouted through the closing door.

She rushed around the corner to the taxi rank. She wasn’t risking the buses, especially if they were running slow. The cost of the taxi would be more than worth it if it got her there in time. She had no idea where she'd wait. It would have to be somewhere discreet and out of sight, in case he saw her. He couldn't know she was there. She'd disrespected him enough by sending the pictures to him in the first place, so she wouldn't disrespect him further by ignoring the one rule they'd agreed on. She would wait across the street, see the postman arrive, and intercept him before even setting foot in the grounds of the church. Quite what she would say to the postman to get her post back was beyond her capability of thought at that moment, but something would come to her.

"St. Ethelred's church please." She said as she got into the back of the cab. "How long will it take?" She nervously checked her watch.

"How long's a piece of string, sweetheart?"

"What?"

"It's rush hour darlin', your guess is as good as mine!" The cabbie laughed in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Ok, well just as quick as you can please."

"Why what's the rush, you got sins to confess to?" His cackle set the hairs on the back of her neck on end.

A letchy cabbie was the last thing she needed, but she settled into the back seat. It was 8.15am. Her stomach lurched as she took stock of the situation. Claire had been right, this was dangerous. She should have left it alone. She was being unfair to him, and to herself. She never imagined that that first letter to him would have led to this; running around London in a panic because she'd taken things too far.

The traffic was slow, and the cab creeped slowly along the streets. Her impatience was growing in line with her anxiety, both feelings feeding each other.

"Is there a different way to go?" She asked the cabbie, already knowing the answer.

"Nah love," he shook his head, "it'll clear soon."

She looked at the clock in the front of the cab. 8.45am.

"Fucking hell…" she muttered to herself. She needed to take back control. "I'll get out here thanks." She shoved some money through the partition and waited for him to unlock the door.

She followed the streets, walking briskly at first but then breaking out into a run when she was just a few minutes away. As she turned the corner to see the church, she considered the best place to hide for the morning. Her lungs were burning, trying to catch her breath. Just as her eyes were searching for a bench or a wall to sit on, she saw a distinctive figure, dressed in red with a large bag slung across them.

"Oh fuck…" she ran towards the postman, desperately trying to catch her breath to form words. "'Scuse me!" She yelled and frantically waved an arm as she approached the man.

"Have you delivered to the church yet?" She pointed vaguely in the direction of the huge structure set back from the street they were on.

"Sorry?" He looked confused.

"The church…" she panted. "Have you done them yet?"

"Oh yeah, did them 20 minutes ago sweetheart, I'm on my way back to the van." He pointed behind her.

"Fuck!" She shouted to herself. "The church or the rectory?"

"It all goes to the rectory love, gave it to Pam, you know her?"

"Pam…" she closed her eyes in discomfort. She hadn't even considered Pam. "Ok thank you!" She shouted back to the postman as she ran towards the church.

She rounded the corner at a pace, considering what the hell she would say to Pam, the nosiest woman she had met, and stopped dead in her tracks before the thought could manifest further.

"Pam!" She shouted louder than intended when she saw her, on her knees, dead-heading some flowering plants.

"Hello dear." Her voice was thick with judgement when she set eyes on her.

"Strange question…" she started with a nervous laugh, hand on her chest, calming her heart. "Don't suppose you have today's post, do you?"

"I took it over to the church a few minutes ago dear." She noticed the second use of the word 'dear' which held no sign of endearment when spoken.

"The church…" she felt sick.

"Yes dear." There it was again. Patronising. "Left it in the vestry. Father is taking confession at the moment though, so you'll have to wait if it's him you're looking for."

If he was in confession, he hadn't seen the post yet. This was her chance. 

"No that's ok, I'll just leave it…" she feigned nonchalance and sauntered back where she'd come from, and the second she was out of Pam's sight she broke into a sprint. Running down the side of the church, she muttered profanities as she went. 

She hesitated for a split second at the threshold of the church. She was about to break the one rule he had set her.

_ "You're never, ever allowed in my church again." _

His words settled on her memory. But she could sneak in and out without him knowing. It would take two minutes, and he would never know. 

She sneaked in quietly, but quickly. She made sure to walk on the opposite side of the church to the confessional booth, tiptoeing carefully until she was a safe distance away and approaching the vestry. She checked behind her once more to make sure she was safe, and quickened her pace as she pushed open the door to enter.

"Oh fuck you're here." The words escaped her before she even realised.

He was sat on the other side of the table, relaxed and calm, seemingly unflustered by her sudden appearance.

"In my own church…" he offered the obvious. The sound of his voice surged through her. "...which I banned you from, if I recall." The words cut through her, but they were playful in tone.

"Sorry, I…" she trailed off, still breathing heavily as she looked behind her. "Pam said you were taking confession."

"I just finished." He explained simply, somehow enjoying her intense discomfort.

"Oh…" she frowned, words having escaped her. She hadn't planned for this. 

"Can I help you?" He asked, eyebrows raised in joyful anticipation. He slowly, confidently, crossed his arms as he watched her fluster.

"Umm…" her eyes scanned the table between them. "...I came for that." She pointed to the envelope she could see face down in the pile that had been left for him.

"Oh this?" He reached across and picked up the envelope, still sealed. A smile flashed on his face as he attempted to keep his controlled torment of her. She could have sworn he blushed a little.

"Yes." She stated firmly. "I need it back." Her breathing had slowed a little, though it was still deep and slightly laboured.

"This one?" He teased. She responded with a narrowing of her eyes. He was enjoying this. "This one addressed to 'Hot Priest'?" He turned the front of the envelope to face her.

"Oh God…" She suddenly remembered scribbling the words.

"He can't help you now." He stated calmly with a wry smile.

She took one long breath as she locked eyes with him. It had taken her a moment to take him in. He looked well. Well rested, a little sun-kissed, with the colour in his skin in contrast to the white of his dog collar. Her eyes lingered on his Adam's apple, a thousand memories rushing through her mind. Her breathing settled to a steady but still laboured rhythm, though now it was his presence that was making her breathless.

"I need it back." She stated again calmly.

"No, it's mine." He smiled widely, holding it into his chest. "It's got my name on it." His grin exploded as he showed it to her again.

"Come on, please." She begged with a small laugh. She wished he'd stop tormenting her.

"Why? What have you said in it??" His voice went higher in intrigue.

"Nothing, I just…" she stepped towards him, which just made him jump out of his seat away from her.

"No no no…" he turned his back to her as he took a few steps away. "I want to know!" His fingers started picking at the seal.

"No please don't!" She hurried around the other side of the table to reach him.

"Why??" He laughed ripping through the paper seal as he backed into the corner of the room.

"Please!" She pleaded as she approached him.

He held the envelope up in the air, slightly behind himself to get away from her reach. His back pressed against the bookcase, nowhere left to go.

"Please, I'm begging you!"

Her words conjured an image in his mind of her on her knees in front of him. The image he'd had in his mind for weeks. The image he couldn't get rid of no matter what.

His laughter faded as she reached up for the envelope with one hand, the other bracing herself against the bookshelf, encircling him within her space. The inch of space between their bodies was electrified and their eyes searched each other, daring the other to make the next move.

Her height gave her the advantage, and she could reach the envelope if she'd wanted to. They both knew it. 

Her hand hovered beside his, their eyes still locked in a silent battle. Their breathing fell into sync; deep, thready and wanting.

She slowly parted her lips, licking them gently as she did.

"Give it back." She said imperceptibly quietly.

He swallowed nervously.

"Tell me what's in it." His voice was low and gruff, his accent lingering on the final soft t.

She kept her eyes on him, daring him to back down first.

"Give…" she pressed her body against his. "...it back."

The feel of her against him set his heart on fire. She kept the pressure against him, and he knew she could feel him tightening against her. He kept his eyes on her despite it, daring her to mention his obvious arousal. She held her nerve. 

"Tell me…" he whispered, exhaling his warm breath on her neck. "...what's in it."

Their eyes stayed locked. Each breath brought their lips imperceptibly closer together. 

She licked her lips again and parted them, still holding his gaze.

"I'm not going to kiss you." She whispered.

The tiniest flash appeared in his eyes.

"I'm not going to kiss you either." His ragged response came instantly, forcing the words to affirm his assertion to himself. 

He finally allowed his gaze to drop to her lips, and he saw the flicker of a smile on them. She'd taken the control. 

Her eyes fell to his lips too, and for a moment they stood in passioned silence, each of them imagining the feel and taste of the others' lips on theirs.

Their gaze met again, bodies still pressed together against the bookcase, lips still temptingly close.

He slowly lowered his arm with the letter within it. Her hand mirrored his, waiting for him to place it in her palm. Their gaze didn't break. 

He slowly, and purposefully, slid the corner of the letter into the charged space between their lips. 

She curled a smile at his boldness. He could match her, risk for risk. She placed her fingers on the envelope, tantalisingly close to his, but with just enough space to feed the tension between them. She could see it in his eyes; the determination not to buckle to the strength of his desires. 

She pulled against his grip for a moment, and watched the mischief in his eyes as he refused to let go. He playfully raised an eyebrow, but then softly relinquished the envelope.

With the pictures safely back in her hands, she felt her power return. She softly ran the corner of the envelope against his bottom lip, before dragging her body away from his and turning her back to him.

With her facing away from him, he inhaled deeply and looked to the heavens to thank God for giving him the strength to resist her, while simultaneously cursing Him for testing his resolve in such an obviously provocative way.

"So what's in the letter?" His voice cracked with dissipating passion. He cleared his throat as she turned around.

"Oh this?" She echoed his words playfully, relishing her newly won confidence.

"Yes…" he rolled his eyes at her. "Come on, I gave it back. What's in it?" He asked sincerely.

She perched on the corner of the table and opened the envelope. He watched her with intent focus as she toyed with him. She came alive when she was playful with him, and it was an energy he fed off. He took the chance to take in the sight of her while she was momentarily occupied and there were several metres of safe space between them. There was only one thought in his head. He fucking loved her. 

"Well, it's not a letter." She said, holding the pictures still within the envelope.

"Ok…" he frowned.

"It's a series of pictures..." She picked the Polaroids out of the envelope, only allowing him to see the plain backs of the photos.

"What…" he laughed, not quite able to understand what she was telling him.

"...that get more, and more, and more…" she playfully pondered the next word as she made a point of studying the pictures. "...exposed."

"Tell me you're joking." He laughed.

"Can't." She shrugged, enjoying the obvious torment within him. It took a moment for him to respond. 

"You can't send me nudes." He shook his head gently, his tone serious but gentle. 

"I know…" she said sincerely as her flirtation gave way to sadness, and she put the pictures back into the envelope. "I'm sorry." She met his gaze.

"No, I just mean because I'll look at them." He looked at her with a smirk.

A small laugh escaped her mouth and she returned the smile. The moment lingered, neither one of them sure what to say next. The tension built across the room between them, and unlike moments earlier, neither of them could hold their gaze. 

“I should probably go.” She said to a space in front of his feet. 

“Yeah…” he reluctantly agreed, a small frown appearing on his face as his eyes also took refuge in the safe spot on the floor. Just as she turned to leave, he spoke again.

“I miss you.” He couldn’t hold the words in any longer, and they tumbled out of him, heavy with truth. He waited for her to look at him. 

She paused, and turned herself back to face him. The corner of her mouth turned up in a small, knowling smile. She knew, and she felt it too.

“I miss you too.” Her eyes met his in the following silence.

He nodded in response, and unable to tolerate the ache in his heart when she looked at him with that much affection, he reverted his gaze back to the floor. There had been a million things he’d wanted to say to her, but that would do. 

“Ok…” She forced a tight smile as she turned to leave again.

“You still owe me a letter.” He pointed playfully at the envelope in her hand. 

She laughed softly, and looked down to where he’d pointed to.

“Well…” she said as she approached the door, her energy shifting slightly. “...then you can have this while you wait.”

She took a single picture out of the envelope and pinned it to the noticeboard next to the door. She only caught a glance of the agony on his face before she walked through the threshold of the vestry back into the church.

The second she’d left his view, he ran across the room to unpin the picture. It was surely a sin to keep a picture of a woman dressed in a black trenchcoat, with what looked like only a bra on underneath, in his church. 

He held it in his hand and shook his head at her endearing boldness. He sighed deeply and studied the picture further. As risqué as it was, it was the only picture he had of her, and he felt a smile grow on his lips.

“Father, are you ok?” Pam’s voice interrupted him, making him jump and turn his back to her, shoving the picture into his trouser pocket. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine, thank you Pam.” That woman was everywhere.

“Well, it’s Mass in an hour.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you.” He ushered her back through the door. “I’m just about to change.”

He shut the door behind her, and rested his back against it. He held a hand to his chest to steady his racing heart. His eyes looked to the heavens once more. If this was a test, he had no idea what the answer was. 


	10. Finding strength

The café was bustling when she returned just in time for the lunch rush. Having Daisy's help over the busiest hours made it an easy decision to keep her on permanently. Once it was quieter, she took some money out of the cash register and handed it over.

"11.30 tomorrow?"

"Yes, that would be amazing, thank you!"

"You did well being dropped in at the deep end." She was genuinely impressed.

"I just really want this job!" She beamed excitedly. "Did you get your errands run ok? You seemed a lot happier when you got back."

"Yes, all done!" She forced a smile. She was struggling to put a label on what she felt about the whole thing.

The rush of adrenaline from their encounter had kept her going on the bus ride back. She played it all out in her mind again; the feel of him against her, the rise and fall of his chest against hers, the heat from his lips just a fraction apart from hers. She played it all out as if she'd given in and kissed him. As if he'd given in and kissed her. As if there had been a moment of shared knowing and they'd given in at the same time and kissed each other as deeply as they'd both so obviously wanted to.

She wondered what he'd done with the picture she'd left him. She'd heard his footsteps running across the room, so he had presumably been able to unpin it before Pam had arrived, who she'd passed on the way out of the church. That had been a risky move, and she braced a little thinking of the awkward position she could have put him in had Pam seen the picture, or worse, had she appeared a minute earlier. How on earth would he have explained that away? Thank God it hadn't come to that, but that was down to luck more than her own good judgement. 

A strange feeling settled over her for the rest of the day. Exhilarated that she'd seen him and still had that electric connection with him, but somehow sad that she didn't know how or if it changed things between them. What was he expecting from her now, and what could she give him? She knew what she wanted from him, but he could never give her that.

As the last few customers were leaving, her phone rang in her pocket. Claire's name appeared on screen.

"How did it go? I haven't heard from you!"

"Umm, hi…"

"Oh, hi. Did you get it back?"

"Yes Claire, I got it back. I've just been busy in the cafe all day, that's all." She responded flatly.

"You could have text me!"

"I was busy!" Truth told, she'd spent all day thinking about him, she'd completely forgotten about keeping Claire updated.

"Well thank God. He didn't see you?"

"No." She didn't know why the lie came so easily. Maybe she just didn't want the interrogation.

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What now? Are you going to leave it alone?"

"Claire, can we not. It's been a long day." She sat down and rubbed a hand across her face.

"Hmm. Ok." Claire reluctantly accepted the diversion.

"I need to close up. Call you tomorrow?"

On the walk home she found herself stopping by to see her mum. She sat on the bench in front of the headstone, waiting for some words to surface. For whatever reason she hadn't felt she could confide in Claire, but her mum was different.

"I bet you didn't see this coming." She held the envelope of remaining pictures in her hand. 

"I'm such an idiot." She laughed in derision at herself. "What was I thinking?"

She sat for a moment, allowing thoughts about their encounter to run through her mind. 

"I don't know what to do now. I don't know what to say to him that he doesn't already know."

Maybe she should just respond to his previous letter as if none of the last 2 days had happened. Reset the clock. But she couldn't ignore what they'd said to each other and what they'd both felt.

"Maybe…" The words caught in her throat, reluctant to be voiced. "...maybe there's nothing left to say."

She sat, elbow resting on her knee, chin planted into her palm, looking at the space in front of her. 

"What would you tell me to do?" She pondered quietly, trying to imagine her mum's words.

"Some sort of sign would be really helpful." She raised her eyebrows in anticipation. There was nothing.

"Ok…" she sighed. "I get it. I have to figure this one out on my own."

She spent the walk back to her flat thinking about what to say to him. She was more confused now than she'd ever been about him. Before she sent the pictures she'd been sure about what she had to do. She'd wanted some closure and some time to get used to the idea of not having him around. Now though, their encounter had blown things wide open; she didn't have closure, and she wanted him more than ever.

Once back at her flat, she slumped into the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Her hands ran through her hair and held tightly onto her curled locks. She needed strength from somewhere to write this letter to him. She knew what it needed to say, but she didn't want to write the words. She was exhausted, but the way she was feeling just made her tiredness worse. She sighed deeply and reached across to her tote bag for some paper, but as she reached into the bag, a notification rang out from her phone. 

She picked it out of the bag and read the preview on screen; an email.

Dad: 'Wedding pictures' 

Her thumb softly pressed on screen to open the email, and there was a link to the photographer's website. She clicked onto it and began scrolling through the endless arty and pretentious shots of flowers, dressed chairs and full trays of filled champagne glasses.

As soon as the shots of guests arriving appeared on screen, she knew what was coming, and shifted in her seat in awkward anticipation. And there he was. Magnificent in the 'whole shebang' as he'd described it. She scrolled past quickly, but there was another, of him smiling widely. And another, of him stood at the end of the aisle, mid-speech. And another, of him embracing the newly wed couple. And another, and another...

"Fuck sake…" she threw her phone down and got up from the sofa to get some wine from the kitchen. She poured a small glass, but eyed it suspiciously. Alcohol wasn't going to make her feelings any easier to deal with, and she pushed the glass aside before returning to the living room.

She picked the phone up again and continued browsing the pictures. Her Godmother had clearly tasked the photographer with capturing as many pictures of 'The Priest' as possible, as there were barely any without him in. 

Then there was one that came as a punch to the heart. On the surface of it, a simple photo of a group of guests talking with 'The Priest'. Only, he wasn't engaged with the other guests, he was focused entirely on one of them. On her. His eyes were fixed on her as she listened to another guest. He was captivated. There was so much love there, but it would always be hidden from the world. 

She felt tears prickle her eyes as she studied the picture. It told her everything she needed to know. He loved her deeply, but he could never outwardly show it, and that was too painful for her to bear. 

She wiped away the forming tears, took a deep breath, and found the strength in her pain to write her final letter to him.


	11. Conflicting focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say that this was a difficult chapter to write, and for some, may be difficult to read, though I hope not. There's mention of death and funerals (don't worry, I haven't killed off Priest!), so if you think this may be hard for you to read at the moment, please just skip over the middle section.
> 
> Also, thank you to Katie_Dub for helping me find a way through this chapter when I just wanted to delete it all..!

The morning service had gone surprisingly well. There hadn't been many congregants, just the usual mid-week crowd, but they had been in good spirits and had responded well to his sermon. He had been in his stride, delivering the service with his signature charm and charisma. He was starting to feel settled in the parish and it was showing in his work. 

In the couple of days since he'd seen her, his spirits had been lifted and he had a calmness over him that felt unfamiliar. The memory of her presence stayed with him as a comfort as he worked, and for some reason that he couldn't yet pin down, it didn't feel like a conflict. The tension he'd been battling for weeks was lessened somehow.

He returned to the rectory after the service and quickly climbed the stairs to his room. He settled onto his bed and opened the top drawer of his bedside table. The letters from her and the picture she'd left for him were bundled against the side panel. He lifted them out and held them in his hands.

It was difficult not to get somewhat aroused by the photo, given her state of dress, but it was her face he was transfixed on. 

He missed her face, her hair, the deep brown of her eyes, the tiny cleft at the end of her nose. He'd dreamt about her the night before, appearing at his bedroom door the same way she'd appeared in the vestry; out of breath, flustered and somehow surprised to see him. Only this time they hadn't wasted precious time on flirtatious teasing. He'd grabbed her by the wrist to pull her closer to him, and kissed her so feverishly that they fell onto his bed. He'd laid over her and undressed her only as much as he needed to before reaching down to release himself from his trousers. 

The thoughts of them both half-dressed and frantically devouring each other in the bed he was currently laid out on, was enough to rekindle the stirrings in his stomach. He shook the thoughts away and swung his legs off the side of the bed, head in hands as the lingering sounds of her pleasured moans echoed in his ears.

Clearing his throat to reset his mind, he stood up and returned the picture and letters to his drawer. 

He wondered how long he'd have to wait for her next letter. He'd told her he'd be waiting for it, in some way to let her know that he wasn't angry at her for coming to the church, but more so because he was still invested in their new found dynamic and he didn't want it to change. He desperately wanted to hold onto his connection to her. Just the thought of receiving her next letter put a smile on his face. 

He exited his room and practically skipped down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found his freshly ironed shirts hung from the back of a chair waiting for him. He unhooked them, slung them over his arm and left the rectory.

"Good morning Father!" The postman's voice reached him from halfway up the path.

"Good morning Peter!" He returned a chirpy greeting.

"Is Pam in? Shall I leave these with her?" Peter held out a small bundle of letters.

"Let's see…" he took the letters and quickly rifled through. A wide smile landed on his face as he juggled the shirts and the post.

"I'll take this one. You can leave the others on the side table just in the door. It's open!" He shouted over his shoulder as he hurried into the church. 

As soon as he was inside the vestry, he shut the door firmly behind him, threw the shirts into a crumple on the table and dragged out a chair to sit on. He pulled the chair under him and quickly unsealed the envelope. He briefly considered it was something of a problem that he felt like a kid on Christmas day taking the pages out of the envelope, but he brushed that aside as he settled in to read.

A slight knot formed in his stomach when he saw the large, heavy paragraphs of her writing. On first look it didn't seem to be as light as her last proper letter, but he shook the doubt away and let his eyes glide over her words.

_ I hope you're ok and that my visit today didn't cause you any problems. I really hadn't planned on seeing you, and I had completely forgotten about Pam. I hope she didn't give you any trouble. _

He swallowed hard and tented his fingers against his temple as he felt the tone of her letter settle upon him.

_ I've spent all day trying to think about what to say to you, and I've been putting off writing it all down. I think you're probably not expecting what I have to say, given how we left things earlier, but it's been weighing on me and it's important I say it. _

_ This is going to be my last letter to you. _

The air in his lungs was sucked out of him by some invisible force, leaving him open-mouthed and shaking his head softly. He rubbed his eyes in the hope the words in front of him would change, but they didn't.

_ Seeing you today filled me with so many feelings, that I don't know what to do with them. I can't do what I want to do with them, which is to just be with you. And if I can't be with you, I need to learn how to be without you, which I can't do if I'm waiting for letters from you. _

_ I think I need to start trying to live my life without you in it. I don't want to. I really fucking don't want to, but I think I have to try now. It's going to be awful, and I'm going to really fucking miss you, especially given how much closer I feel to you now, but I think that's part of the problem. I'm always going to want to be closer to you, but I know that we'll never be as close as I want us to be.  _

_ I've come to realise that it won't ever pass. I'm always going to love you, but I need to start learning how to live with that, because I'm never going to be able to love you in the way that I want to. I need to find a different way to love you.  _

_ If this is how I'm feeling, I can't imagine how confused you must be. You're so dedicated to your work, and you are so good at it, so having me as some kind of distraction, or temptation, or whatever, must be so unsettling for you. _

_ I don't think it's fair to either of us to carry this on. Whatever this is. _

_ I can't choose not to love you, that's not a choice I have, it just is. But I can choose how to love you, and it's too hard for me to love you like this. I can't love you when you're so close. Maybe it will be easier to love you from afar.  _

_ Far from getting over you, I've been falling for you even more with each letter, and seeing you today just made me fall in love with you all over again. I fucking love you so much, but that's why I can't do this anymore. I can't love you like this and not be with you. _

_ I hope you understand. You're everything to me, and I would hate for this to be a difficult ending for us. _

_ You can write back if you want to, but I won't be expecting it. And I won't write back if you do.  _

_ You will always be with me, in my heart, and that brings me endless peace. _

He didn't know at what point he'd started to cry, or when his hand holding the pages had started shaking, or when he'd stopped breathing, but the world crashed in on him as he read her name at the end of the letter, with a single kiss next to it. 

He finally managed to gasp a breath. His hand covered his eyes and firmly wiped away the tears that had run tracks down his cheeks. He turned the letter over in his other hand, trying to make sure he'd read it properly. 

But it was all there. Her strength, her courage, her honesty, her compassion, her heart. Everything he loved about her, taken away.

The heavy creak of a wooden door on stone flooring filled the room.

"Can I have a minute please, Pam?" He didn't need, or want, to turn around. She would be the only person to enter the vestry without knocking.

"I've been knocking." Her voice was quiet and concerned.

"Can I have a minute please?" He repeated, his tone firmer as he kept his back to her.

"It's just…" she hesitated. "Mr Granger's daughter is on the phone…"

"I'll ring her back." He needed her to leave. He couldn't deal with Pam or church business, or anything right now. His heart was crumbling into dust in his chest.

"Mr Granger passed away this morning."

A deep sigh escaped him. He paused a moment to find some way back into the world. 

"Keep her on the phone, I'll be there in a minute." He rubbed his face firmly as he heard Pam shut the door behind her. 

He slowly folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. He'd have to deal with that later. 

\------------------------------

The walk to Mr Granger's house had been long. He usually got the bus, but he needed time to think about what to say to Mr Granger's daughter. What words of comfort he could give her. This usually came naturally to him, but his mind was erratic and searching for meaning and sense in his own feelings.

He paused for a moment outside the front door and looked down at himself, reminding him of his clerical position. He had a job to do. His own personal turmoil would have to wait.

He entered the house and went straight to Mr Granger's room. He sat and prayed at his bedside for some time. He'd not had the opportunity to read him his last rites, as Mr Granger had passed peacefully in his sleep after what had seemed like a slight recovery in his condition. 

After a while, he returned to the kitchen to speak with his daughter about funeral arrangements.

"Thank you, Mary." He smiled softly as she placed a cup of tea on the table for him.

She was maybe five or ten years older than him, and had the gentle energy of someone torn between her grief and her want to put on a brave face. He noticed the way she moved slowly around the kitchen, her tiredness preventing her from exerting any unnecessary energy on speed. It was in these moments that he connected so strongly to his faith and his vocation. He was put on this earth to help people when they needed it most. 

"You know…" he said, leaning in closer. "...the Bible says that…"

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Mary held up a hand with pleading eyes. "My dad was religious, obviously," she gestured to him, the priest, sat in front of her, "but I'm not. I don't really believe in God, sorry!" She laughed with a wince, hoping she hadn't offended him.

"Oh that's ok." He smiled widely. "My favourite person is an atheist." He braced internally. He shouldn't have said that.

"Favourite person? Strange choice of words." She eyed him with interest as she sipped her tea.

"I just mean," he swallowed hard. "she's not family." He brushed it off.

"Your favourite person isn't part of your family?" She quizzed him.

"I'm not close with my family."

"She's your family?" Mary asked with an understanding gaze.

"Umm…" he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How had they ended up talking about this? He was here for her, this wasn't about him. 

"Sorry!" Mary widened her eyes, noticing his hesitation and discomfort. "Occupational hazard. I pry where I'm not wanted sometimes." She shrugged.

"What do you do?" He asked eagerly, now realising her need to distract herself.

"School counsellor." Mary paused and looked at him for a moment. "I can spot turmoil at 20 paces."

"I'm in turmoil?" He laughed, protesting a little too hard.

"Aren't you?" She asked softly, watching him turn the tea cup in his hands.

He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. As much as he wanted to help her by keeping her mind occupied on something other than her grief, he couldn't cross the line by letting her in any further. Mary studied him, then relented.

"My dad had a real soft spot for you." She smiled warmly at him. "Said you had something special about you."

"I had a soft spot for him too." He nodded. "You know he had a stash of chocolate in his drawer?" He remembered with the smallest of laughs.

"No??" Mary laughed in disbelief, which gave way to a small frown and an unexpected stab of pain.

"Sorry…" he reached out a comforting hand to hers. 

"It's just, he reminded me of my Grandad. That's the kind of thing he'd have done, hidden sweets from my Nanna."

Mary smiled, wondering if her dad had done the same to her mum before she'd passed. 

"Sounds like a riot." She said, sharing the comforting moment.

"He was…" he nodded softly, and out of nowhere was transported back to the engagement dinner, where those same words had been spoken. He lingered in the moment too long, and stifled a tidal wave of hurt.

"Sorry." He frowned to himself as his emotions surfaced. "Jesus, God, sorry!" He pressed his palms into his eyes as he felt them fill. "So unprofessional!" He tried to laugh it off, but felt the deep pain inside himself. 

"It's ok." Mary smiled genuinely. "Even priests have emotions. I'm not judging you."

"Yeah but this isn't about me." He forced a laugh again, failing to hide his obvious pain. "I should be consoling you!" He playfully tapped her arm, and she conceded to him with a smile. 

"I'm all cried out for this morning." She rubbed her face. "I'll go again this afternoon." She shrugged in resignation. "Besides, enjoying other people's drama is a great distraction!"

"Haha, well…" he turned his cup again. "...I save my drama for the confessional!"

"That bad, huh?" She smirked at him.

He shook his head to himself.

"You're very good at your job!" He pointed an accusing finger at her, feeling like one of her school kids in the middle of a session.

"So are you." She replied earnestly. 

He bowed his head a little and smiled into his tea. The reminder of his clear passion for his job was just a bit too hard to bear against the heavy weight he was carrying in his heart.

He spent another hour with Mary, talking about her dad, what kind of man he had been, and what she wanted to be said about him at the funeral. As he left, she thanked him for spending so much time with her.

"You must have so many other things to do today."

"No, this is it. Nothing else." He reached out and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. "You be kind to yourself ok?" He found her tired eyes and made sure she felt his reassurance.

"You too." She responded, returning the purposeful gaze. 

"Ah, I'm alright." He playfully waved a hand to shoo away her concern for him.

"I mean it. Your emotions are valid. Ignoring them isn't healthy." She kindly lectured him.

"Stop counselling me…" he playfully glared at her.

"I told you," she shrugged, "it's what I do." She smiled warmly at him.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He said softly as he gave a small wave and walked back down the path. 

\------------------------------

When he returned back to the church, he went straight to the vestry to pour himself a drink. Before he'd left, he'd taken the letter and put it with the others in his room, but he was in no rush to go back and read through it. He didn't even want to be in the same building as the words on the paper. 

He stood in the vestry, glass in hand, looking around himself. Memories of her were everywhere. Not just from the few days before, but from her first visit to him; her sat at the table sniffing the bible that was now hers, her stood in front of him drinking the same whiskey he now tasted in his mouth. He remembered that night so vividly. It was hard to forget the moment you fell in love with someone, even if you didn't realise it at the time.

He found himself retracing their steps that night, and stood outside the confessional booth. He softly drew back the curtain, his eyes looking around as he remembered what had happened in that space. He sat down where she had been and thought about everything she'd said that night. The courage she'd had to open up to him, and the raw honesty in her words. 

That, he'd come to realise, was the moment he'd fallen for her. And he was still there, only deeper now. He'd seen into her soul that night, and her letters since had only showed him more of herself. She'd been right in her letter; all they'd been doing these past few weeks had been slowly falling for each other even more.

He took a long swing of his drink, then rested the glass on his lap. He was tired. He felt a physical pain in his heart, and his mind was foggy with conflicting thoughts. He massaged his forehead to soothe the ache, and inhaled deeply to ground himself. He looked around again. He'd never sat on this side of his own confessional. Slowly, he finished the last of his drink and placed the empty glass on the small shelf.

He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and prayed.


	12. 'Love is changed, not ended'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the final chapter but it got LONG. So enjoy this chapter, and the actual final one will be up very soon!

Three nights had come and gone with little sleep. He had studied the wooden beams in the ceiling of his room more carefully than even the carpenter who’d carved them. He wanted to write back to her, to keep that connection alive, even just for one last time, but what could he say? Everything she’d said was right; it wasn’t fair to carry on writing their letters. He didn’t want her to keep writing to him if it was causing her pain, but the thought of never having any contact with her again consumed him with sadness.

That’s what he’d hoped for the night of the wedding; that cutting contact then would have allowed them the space to deal with, and ultimately accept the passing of their time together. But that was then. And he had loved her then; he’d meant the words when he’d said them that night. But now, he felt it in his entire being in a way he could never have thought possible, and the thought of not being able to show her that love was unbearable.

He reached into the drawer for her letter, though it was pointless. He’d read it so many times by now that he knew exactly what words came next. He could recite it in his dreams, if only he could stay asleep long enough to have any. 

He had to write something to her. Something that showed his understanding and acceptance of her choice to protect herself and take control of her own emotions, but that didn’t show her how fucking devastated he was that she'd walked away from him. Only, he’d spent the last three days trying to find those words, and he wasn’t anywhere close to knowing what the hell to say.

The sounds of the dawn breaking began filtering through the windows as he laid wide awake. It was a midsummer morning, so probably no later than 4am. There was no point trying to sleep now though, so he dragged himself out of bed and got dressed into his running gear. It was Mr Granger’s funeral that afternoon, so he needed as clear a head as possible for that, and he still hadn’t written the Homily. He’d focus his mind on that; maybe finding the words to celebrate the life of a kind and joyous man would be easier.

\------------------------

The rack of vestments in the vestry stared back at him. He normally wore white or black vestments for funerals, but Mary had asked if he had anything brighter to wear as her father would have wanted the colourful celebration of his life. Purple was the other accepted colour for funeral vestments, and his hand ran along the rack to the only purple one he had. The first vestment he’d ever bought; a ‘proper plum’, he remembered describing it to her. 

He couldn’t even carry out a funeral without having her on his mind. She’d chuckled at his child-like excitement when he’d shown her that same robe and described its beauty. Though they’d both known he didn’t mean the robe. 

Reluctantly, with no other choice, he began dressing. He ran through the Homily in his mind as he did. It had taken him hours to find the right words, and even once he had, they weren’t even his own. He glanced over to the table where her letter lay open next to his Homily notes. He wondered what she’d think if she knew her words had inspired a Homily at a Catholic funeral, and a sad smile spread across his face. She’d never know. 

Once dressed, he looked himself in the mirror and smoothed down the robes. His eyes locked onto himself and studied his face. He looked tired and defeated, though no one would notice with their own grief at the fore. He attempted to flatten down his hair, to no success, and turned to pick up his Homily notes. He folded them and placed them in his pocket, then picked up her letter. Slowly, he slid it back into the envelope with the smallest of frowns; he still couldn’t find the right words for her. Maybe there were no words left to say. 

\----------------------

This wasn’t his first funeral. Not even his first in this Parish. It saddened him that his count of funerals and weddings was considerably weighted to the former. But he had always seen funerals as a celebration of life; of a chance to consider what the next life would bring. He always tried to bring this positivity into his funeral sermons, but as the mourners gathered, there was a knot in his stomach that his own melancholy would dampen the message.

He steeled himself at the end of the first hymn, and stood tall and calm at the lectern. With a glance up to God for some added strength, he gripped his Bible tightly for comfort. 

“Life is changed, not ended.” His voice held strong and loud. 

“That’s what I always used to say. And it is true.” He nodded. “But I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Love, is changed. Not ended.”

He paused for a moment to settle his rising emotions.

“Our love for a person doesn’t end just because they’re not here anymore. It doesn’t go anywhere.” He rejected the idea with a visible grimace.

“It stays with us.” He held his chest and swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. 

“But we can’t love them in the same way we used to. And that is hard.”

His voice wavered, and his eyes took refuge in his own feet as he clenched his jaw shut, refusing the emotion to surface. 

"Not being able to love someone in the way we want to, doesn't mean we love them any less." He shook his head sincerely. "Not even close."

“We just need to learn how to love them in a different way.”

He took a moment to look out over the congregation. They hung on his every word in attentive silence.

"The love…" he lingered thoughtfully, "...changes."

"And the hardest thing to do, the hardest thing…" he emphasised with a pointed finger, "...is to accept that it has to change."

"It might be the single hardest thing we ever have to do..." He paused as his voice gave way, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he forced down his own feelings. 

"Man, woman, child..." his eyes rested on Mary, "...or atheist…" he said with a kind smile to the ripple of suppressed laughter.

"...God loves us all, and it is His love that gives us strength through the dark times to find our way. To find the right way to love."

He exhaled softly and stepped down from the lectern. His words had certainly comforted Mary; she caught his gaze and thanked him softly as she rose for the next hymn. As much as he had believed in every word he'd said, he still felt an unease when he considered them against his own heartache. Mr Granger's family and friends didn't have a choice to love him differently now he'd passed. But he still couldn't accept that he had to find a different way to love her; his head told him he should, but his heart just couldn't do it. 

He stepped aside as the last words of the hymn echoed around the church and made way for Mary. He gently touched her arm in encouragement as she took to the lectern.

"What can I say about my dad?" She said, looking out over the congregation.

"He wasn't afraid of taking risks." She considered. An unexpected smile spread across her lips as she spoke.

"He certainly wasn't afraid of hiding 4 Kit-Kat Chunkys in the back of his drawer only for me to find them the day he passed." She laughed, thankful that others joined her, breaking the lingering tension. She relaxed her stance as she continued. 

"There would have been more but apparently Father here had his share of the stash." She gestured to him as he chuckled with a boyish shrug. 

"It's not hard to take small risks like that," she continued, "but my dad was never afraid to take the big risks either."

"He wasn't afraid to marry my mum, a woman 20 years his senior. He wasn't afraid to decide on a complete career change at 50. He wasn't afraid to challenge every assumption about what his life 'should be' just because that's what the template of his life was 'supposed' to look like."

Mary's words sank into him as he listened, unable to lift his gaze to the congregation. 

"Some people worry that taking risks leads to a less fulfilled life, that you lose something along the way. But look where it left my dad… in his 80s, with no regrets, and a church full of people who love him." 

His gaze stayed down as he felt a burning in his chest. No regrets. 

"If taking risks leads to this, then I think we can all be a bit more like my dad."

Mary's words burned into him as he stood, head down and thoughtful. It took him a moment to realise that she had taken her seat again, and all eyes were on him to move the service along.

"Beautiful sentiment, Mary, thank you." The words barely made a sound past the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard, clenched his jaw, and continued the service with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

\-----------------------

After the service, Mary had asked him to join them at the wake, but he made his polite excuses and stayed behind at the church. He was exhausted. 

The last week had been a rollercoaster of emotions. Seeing her, talking to her, being close enough to touch her and kiss her; it had lit the flames in him and kept him going for days. It'd given him an energy he'd not experienced in years. And for that to end so abruptly in her letter to him, had been a crash down to earth that he was struggling to recover from. Had he known her visit would have been their last time together, he wouldn't have played stupid flirtatious games with her. He'd have kissed her. He wouldn't have let her leave.

He had to say something to her. It didn't matter what. It didn't have to be eloquent or poetic. She had to know he wasn't ready to lose her yet. He didn't want to lose her at all.

He shut the door of the vestry and searched for some paper and a pen. He looked to the heavens as he did.

"You're very quiet…" he spoke as if God Himself was sat in the room with him. 

"Not going to throw a Bible off a bookshelf at me?"

He sat down at the table.

"No foxes about to pay me a visit?" 

His pen was poised, ready to write.

"No urgent phone call from the Bishop?"

His eyes looked around the room, waiting for some kind of sign.

"Hmm?" He waited.

Silence.

He huffed a laugh to himself and shook his head. His eyes focused back in front of him. The pen had been pressed against the paper and had formed a small blob of ink, waiting to write his words. The words he had been so sure about a minute before. Why couldn't he write them? Nothing was stopping him. 

"Jesus Christ…" he let the pen drop. "...what the fuck am I doing?" He frowned deeply and tore the sheet of paper from the pad, screwed it into a ball, and tossed it into the bin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, I love reading them, and I'm thankful people are actually reading this! Please keep leaving comments if you are enjoying it (even through all the angst..sorry!)


	13. Nothing left to say

Eventually, she had told Claire about what had really happened when she'd gone to intercept the photos. Once she'd sent her last letter, even though she knew it was the right decision, she had found it too hard to deal with by herself. She needed her sister's support. Claire had been surprisingly kind, but then their relationship had taken all kinds of unexpected turns recently, and she was actually enjoying being able to call Claire and not be on the other end of a judgemental rambling.

Daisy had worked some good shifts, and so she had decided to let her look after the café for the day. 

She'd spent the day in the flat binge-watching TV, having a long bath, and had then sat down to read a book. She made the most of the quiet day seeing as she had spent her last day off severely hungover and questioning her life choices.

As she turned to the next page, she heard the sharp clink of her letterbox. She leant back into the sofa cushions to see if she could see what had landed on the mat. It was 6pm, so it definitely wasn't post. It was probably just a takeaway menu or a flyer for a lost cat. 

A single white envelope lay on the floor.

She frowned, set her book aside and walked over to the door. She picked it up and turned it over. Just one word on the front. Her name. His handwriting. No postmark, no stamp.

Hand delivered.

She simultaneously frowned and smiled, unsure what it meant. She parted the seal and took out a single sheet of blank paper.

"What…" she said to herself as she turned the key in the lock to open the door.

He stood there, on her front step, with a soft but confident smile. She eyed him suspiciously.

"What…" she said again quietly, turning the paper over to show him she had no idea what it meant.

He took in the sight of her, his heart swelling at her mix of confusion and anticipation.

"I have nothing left to say." He shrugged, and watched the expressions on her face change as she caught up.

Her lips pursed to speak, but he shook his head at her with a silent 'shh' on his lips. He looked past her into the flat, as if to invite himself in, and she took the smallest step back to allow it. 

He slowly stepped inside, sliding himself through the half open door. She stepped back nervously as his eyes stayed on hers, the smile still gentle on his lips.

His actions were slow but deliberate as he turned to close the door, turning the key in the lock with an audible click that bounced off the tension between them.

Still in the small space of the entrance way, he turned back to face her. She stood, silently waiting his actions, unsure what this all meant. Her lips curled into a hesitant smile as his eyes took her in for a moment. 

He looked down to her hands, and gently took the envelope and paper from them, carefully placing them down on the closest surface.

She swallowed hard as he took a step closer to her, their eyes meeting as they shared a gentle smile. He brushed his thumb against her cheek and placed his hand at the side of her face, his fingers gently caressing the hair behind her ear. His other hand held her waist and gently pulled her against him.

He gave himself a moment to take her in. All the things he'd missed about her; her hair, her deep brown eyes, the tiny cleft at the end of her nose. She raised a hand to his waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. It was slow, soft and loving. There was no rush to it; they'd waited so long for this. He stayed there, lips on hers, holding her close to him as he felt the tension dissolve from her body. 

He began to back away to see her face, but she refused to let him go, chasing his kiss and placing her hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. They both laughed into the kiss, before they finally allowed each other a moment to catch their breath. 

He ran both his hands through her hair and placed them at the back of her neck.

"I fucking love you." He said with confident sincerity. There was a silence as she watched him. He eyed her quizically, waiting for her to say something.

"Oh can I talk now?" She raised an eyebrow playfully.

"Fuck you…" he laughed, his hand still caressing her hair. 

"Hope so…" she grinned.

"There'll be time for that." He smiled back, his eyes back on her lips.

"Will there?" She asked, with more concern in her voice than she had intended.

"Oh yes." He looked down her body, imagining her smooth, warm skin under her clothes. "We'll spend a lot of time on that." He kissed her quickly but deeply. 

"Not that this isn't all sickeningly romantic…" she laughed, reaching for the envelope, the sheet of paper tucked inside the open seal. "...this was very cute by the way..."

"Thanks." He laughed with a shy, boyish grin as his cheeks flushed.

"But…" she looked him over for any clues. "...what the hell?"

He smiled to himself, knowing the explanation had to come. 

"Come here…" he took her hand and led her into the living room, kicking off his shoes as he did. He stretched out onto the sofa and pulled her down with him. They lay face to face, his head propped up on a bended elbow, looking gently down at her.

"Your letter broke my heart." He said, tucking a curl behind her ear. "The thought of not seeing you again…" he took a breath to settle the rising feeling he'd been living with since he'd read her letter. "...it made me feel physically sick."

"I'm sorry…" She began with a frown before he stopped her. 

"No no no, do not apologise." He kissed her softly. "You had the courage to make the hard decision, and I have been running away from that for weeks."

"Ok…" she encouraged him on, absent mindedly running her fingers along the seam of his t-shirt.

"I don't want to love you from afar. I want to love you this close." He rolled her tightly into him and hooked a leg over hers so she couldn't move away.

"Me too." She grinned widely and flopped an arm over him, pulling him in as close as she could. 

"I tried to write it all down, to send a letter to you. And then I realised. There was nothing left to say. I just had to be here."

She smiled up at him, thankful that he was.

"So I'm jumping in." He pressed his lips into her hair. "Taking a risk." 

He couldn't stop looking her over, taking in everything he'd missed.

"I don't want to live my life with regrets, and not finding out if this can work would have been a huge one."

"Ok." She pursued her lips together, considering her next words. "Obvious question…" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Go on…" he knew, but let her ask anyway.

"How?" She asked with a laugh.

"I have literally no idea!" He laughed with her. "It may not work." He shrugged. "We might end up six months down the line having a hideous break up because I can't make this work, because I can't find the balance." He looked up to God, then stroked her hair, pensive about what might be ahead of them. 

"But at least we'll know." She played with the collar of his polo shirt. 

"Right." He lifted her chin, held it for a moment, then kissed her.

"Do you have more questions?" He asked sincerely.

"Actually, I do have one!" She sat up with a speed that surprised him.

"Umm, ok?" He chuckled, intrigued to hear what had her so animated.

"When I came to the church…"

"Yeah…"

"You didn't seem surprised to see me."

"No." He laughed to himself.

"Why? How did you know I would be there?" It was the one thing that hadn’t made sense to her. 

"I didn't. But I heard someone run past the window outside saying 'fuck fuck fuck fuck' and I knew it was you."

"Oh God…" she buried her face into his chest.

"I had a minute to compose myself." He laughed and kissed the top of her head.

"Alright smart arse." She nudged him playfully and he smiled back at her before his eyes dropped to her lips. 

She shifted her weight so she laid on top of him, and ran a hand through the messy tufts of his hair. She'd been so consumed with their reunion that this was the first time she'd really seen him. He looked tired. She wondered whether he'd been looking after himself. 

"Have you eaten?"

"Umm…" he actually couldn't remember when he last ate. Yesterday maybe. "No, not yet."

"Ok." She tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear, only for it to spring back into its untidy place. "Stay there, I'm calling for pizza."

She kissed him quickly before climbing off him and walking out of view to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and held it, slowly letting it out as he closed his eyes in relief..

The hard bit was done. He'd made the decision. He'd taken the leap of faith. The rest they could figure out together. 

"It'll be an hour, is that ok?" She said as she came back into the room a few minutes later. "I have snacks…" she said, raising a sharing bag of crisps and some chocolate.

She smiled as she saw him. Laid on his back, one hand resting softly on his stomach, the other bent above his head which was softly turned to one side. Fast asleep.

"Fucking adorable…" she smiled and took her phone out of her pocket to take a picture to tease him with later. 

She sat on the sofa and carefully lifted his feet onto her lap. He didn't stir as she reached for her book and carried on reading from where she left off. She read a few lines before turning to look at him again. She couldn't quite believe he was there, but she didn't need to question it. 

"I fucking love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this ending!  
> I'm thinking of writing an extra bonus chapter just with some loose ends that I couldn't fit into this last chapter without ruining the flow. It won't be anything major, just some post-reunion fluff/chat. These guys need a chapter without so much angst! If I get brave I might add some smut, but I'm not making any promises..!


	14. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-reunion fluff, because they deserve it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the last chapter, I said I might add a bonus chapter to tie up loose ends. Well, I wrote most of it fairly soon after, but other things took priority and I never fully finished it. I then got a couple of really nice comments that I saw when I logged in for the first time in ages, so thought I'd take a look at what I'd written, and it wasn't terrible (I don't think!).
> 
> So, here's what happened after they reunited. It picks up almost immediately, so it may be worth re-reading the last chapter or two (or as much as you like!), just to reimmerse yourself in their world to get the full impact of this chapter, given it's been so long! And yes, there's a bit of smut, because let's be honest, it would have happened, but that's not what the essence of this bonus chapter is about.
> 
> Tl;dr - Re-read the last couple of chapters for a refresher, then dive in to this bonus post-reunion fluff!

He roused slowly and silently, not moving while his mind returned to his body. He was relaxed; more so than he'd felt in a long time. His eyes stayed shut as he tried to place himself. It took a moment to remember where he was, but a warmth spread through him as his consciousness caught up. He slowly opened his eyes to see her sat at the other end of the sofa, reading her book. She hadn't noticed him wake. 

He watched her in silent adoration; her eyes gliding smoothly over the words on the page, the way she softly bit her lip as she read, running the page between her fingers before she turned it and smoothed it down. 

He couldn't stop the smile from growing on his lips. 

"Hey beautiful." He croaked in a sleepy voice, gently drawing her attention away from her book.  
A wide smile landed on her face.  
"Hey sleepy head." She said gently, closing her book and setting it down. Her hands ran along his legs to his knees and back down again. He hadn't noticed until that point that she must have put them on her lap as he'd slept.  
"Is that pizza not here yet? He asked, suddenly aware of how ravenous he was.  
"Oh it arrived about fifty pages ago." She laughed softly at him.  
"What?! What time is it? Why didn't you wake me?" He rattled off questions as he sat himself up and rubbed his face aggressively.  
"It's eight-thirty." She chuckled at him. "You didn't wake up when the bell went, or when I moved you off me to get up." She shuffled up to him and kissed him gently.  
"Shit, sorry."  
"It's ok." She shrugged, looking him over. "You obviously needed it."  
"It'll have gone cold now." He sulked.  
"The oven's warmed." She kissed him quickly before standing up, pulling him with her as she went.  
"Ok wait…" he said, still sleepy as he stood. "Come here…"

He pulled her back, bringing her close to him and pressing his forehead against hers as he wrapped his arms drowsily around her neck, still drunk from sleep. She curled her arms around his back. Their eyes locked, enjoying the closeness they were now free to savour. 

He pressed his lips against hers, still heavy and dopey. She responded, gently parting her lips as he sank further into the kiss. He slid his hands down her back and clasped them together around her waist, reluctantly opening his eyes and resting his forehead back on hers. 

"Why did this take me so long?" He asked, more to himself, not expecting her to answer.  
"Because you've starved your brain of sleep and food…" she said matter of factly and narrowed her eyes at him, leading him to the kitchen by the hand.

He leant back onto the kitchen counter as he watched her place the pizza box straight into the oven. She closed the door, then reached for a bottle of wine, dragging it across the counter top. 

"Drink?" She asked.  
"No." He said defiantly and pushed the bottle away. He reached for her waist, kissing deeply and impatiently into the crook of her neck.  
"Ok!" she smiled at his frantic change of pace, extending her neck to one side, inviting him in.  
"How long have we got?" He mumbled into her shoulder as he began unbuckling his belt.  
"Five minutes..." She breathed heavily, closing her eyes as he kissed across her collarbone. "...maybe less."  
"Definitely less..." He breathed with a laugh, kissing back up to her lips as the buckle of his belt fell to one side.

She undid the button on his jeans as his hand slid between her leggings and her knickers, feeling her warmth through the fabric.

"Take them off." He breathed into her ear as he teased at her earlobe with his teeth.  
"Please…" she taunted him while pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs.  
"Fuck please." He smiled into a kiss as he slipped his thumbs down either side of her knickers and pushed them down. He backed her against the counter and ran his hand down her, sliding two fingers smoothly into her.  
"Fuck…" he said without intention, feeling her react to his touch. 

He braced himself with one hand on the countertop, and lifted her leg with the other to get as close as he could to her.

A heavy mix of blasphemous names tumbled from both of their mouths as he slid into her. Her heat surrounded him tightly, and it took everything in him to pace himself. 

She wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers as he rocked back and forth against her. Her back pounded against the counter top behind her, her hips moving in time with his.

He felt the rising sensation of climax far too soon for his liking, and threw his head back with a frustrated grimace. The groan that came with it was unintentional, and she noticed his broken rhythm.  
"Wait…" she placed a hand at the back of his neck and drew him in, forehead on his.  
"Trying…" he breathed heavily, the feeling of him inside her almost too much to bear.  
"I just mean…" she kissed him kindly, not judging his stamina, "...let me catch up." She looked right at him as she shifted her weight and slid her hand down between them and touched herself.  
"Fuuuuck…" He cried out, with a pained laugh. "That is not helping!" 

He closed his eyes, shutting out the image of her pleasuring herself. Watching that would send him over the edge far too quickly. He thrust his hips against her, over and over, his heart pounding.  
Her gentle moans escalating in his ear gave him all the signals he needed to know how close she was.  
She felt his rhythm become erratic as she worked gently at herself; it didn't need much to get her equal to his state of climax. The sensations built quickly, and on feeling the crest of the wave approach, she moved her fingers so they lightly brushed against him as he moved in her.

"Jesus fuck…" he moaned into the room, the feeling of her fingers against him pushing his climax over the edge. His thrusts slowed but intensified, pushing against her. Her orgasm crashed over her, and she pulled his hips closer into her. She wanted to feel every inch of him. Her moans were muffled into his neck as she held his hips in place, both hands holding him tightly against her.  
"Fuck, don't move." She breathed heavily, feeling him pulsate inside her.  
"Oh God…" he panted into her hair, the last ripples of her orgasm massaging him.  
"He can't help you now…" she laughed, echoing their exchange from their meeting at the vestry.  
"Fuck you." He laughed and shook his head, still panting.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breath. His exhale was slow and controlled as he opened his eyes to see her smiling warmly back at him. They shared a moment of silence, and then fell into gentle laughter as the reality of the last few hours hit them.

"I wouldn't change this for the world." He said with genuine sincerity, tucking her curls behind her ears and kissing her softly.  
"Ok, but could you? I think the pizza's burning."  
"Oh shit!"

\-----------------

"So…" she bit into a slice of pizza, her back against the arm of the sofa, legs crossed. "...no plan?"  
"Not the slightest bit of a plan." He replied, reaching into the pizza box on the sofa between them. He smiled into her eyes as they faced each other, comfortable with their homely set-up.  
"Ok, good to know!" She widened her eyes at him. His infectious laugh sent a shiver down her spine.  
"Not helpful, I know…"  
"But…" she hesitated. It was the obvious question, but she was reluctant to ask it in case his reaction wasn't as she hoped.  
"I'll have to leave the church." He answered, saving her momentary doubt from taking hold. "The catholic church at least." He added quickly, biting into his pizza.  
"So I can still call you Father?"  
"You can call me whatever you like, babe." He winked, still chewing his food.  
"Babe?!" She scoffed.  
"Yeah…" he shook his head at himself. "...sorry. We can work on pet names." He smirked at her, enjoying their effortless chemistry.  
"Do you have any nicknames?" She asked, interested in the parts of his life she didn't know about yet.  
"Not really. You?"

She paused, and picked a mushroom off her pizza slice. A smile hovered lightly on her lips as she thought. She placed down her pizza and tossed the mushroom into her mouth.

"Wait there."  
He watched her disappear into her room, wondering what she was looking for.  
"Here…" she returned, thrusting a framed picture into his hands as she sat back down.

He looked at her with interest as he took it, lingering his gaze on her before dropping his eyes to the picture.

"Fleabag and Boo." He read the words etched roughly into the wooden frame. The picture inside warmed his heart. Whoever the blonde girl was, their friendship was evidently strong.  
He looked back to her and was met with a nervous but sincere smile.  
"Are you Fleabag or Boo?" He asked, his voice higher pitched than usual.  
"Guess." She laid the challenge before him.

She expected him to refuse, or to flippantly choose one just to get to the answer quicker, but he studied the picture carefully. She watched his eyes dart back and forth between the two friends, lingering every so often on one or the other. After a solid minute of thought, he responded.

"Fleabag." He said gently with a smile, knowing he was right before he even looked back to her.  
Her face gave away how genuinely impressed she was that he'd somehow reasoned his way to the correct answer. She was about to ask him how he'd worked it out but he continued.  
"So this is Boo?" He pointed to the blonde figure who exuded warmth and love.  
"Yep."  
"Can I meet her?"  
"No." She said with a certainty he hadn't expected.  
"Too soon?" He asked, kicking himself for assuming the introduction.  
"Too late." She smiled softly at his confusion. "She died two years ago."  
"What?" He felt a shock of grief for the girl in the picture he had already warmed to. He touched the picture over Boo's face, unable to imagine what could possibly have happened. 

She reached over and took the frame from him. She smiled back at the Boo in the picture.

"She would have fucking loved you." She assured, imagining all the conversations they would have had had she still been alive.  
"What happened?" He asked, genuinely distraught.  
"Sit back. Eat your pizza." She pushed the box towards him with her toe. "It's quite the story."

\------------------

She told him everything; the café, the boyfriend, the mistake, the accident. All of it, without filter. If he could accept the parts of herself that she was ashamed of, they might have a fighting chance. He listened intently, asking questions only occasionally. He was fixated by her, by her past, filled with a pain that all of a sudden answered so many questions he'd had about her.

"So you know where the door is if you don't want anything to do with me anymore!" She joked, but he saw the insecurity in her eyes.  
"Don't do that." He said with a kind firmness.  
"Do what?" She asked tentatively.  
"Well for starters, don't assume I'm going to run off at the first sign of trouble." He frowned at her, hurt she would think his decision to be with her was based solely on the surface emotions of passion and lust.  
"I told you," his tone hardened without intention. "I'm in this to make it work and you need to know that is always going to be my priority when things get hard." He softened the deep frown that had unknowingly formed on his face when he saw her face lose its spark.  
"But more importantly," he moved the pizza box to the floor and shuffled next to her, taking her hands in his, "don't ever think that mistakes you may have made in your past make you any less worthy of love now."  
Her gaze buried into their entwined hands, but he reached up and gently tilted her chin so their eyes met. He looked deeply into her eyes, holding her gaze so she understood his words.  
"I have a lot of love to give to you." He held her chin softly as he kissed her. "And this isn't going to work if you're second guessing whether you deserve it or not."  
His eyes darted between hers, thumb still gently caressing her chin.  
"You do."

She held his gaze until she felt tears prickle her eyes. The feelings inside her were overwhelming. His understanding, his acceptance, his love. All of it, pouring into her through his eyes. She managed a nod and closed her eyes momentarily to stop the tears forming. His eyes were still fixed on her when she opened them. He was relentless in making her face the truth.

"We're in this. Warts and all." He searched her eyes for her agreement.  
"I don't have warts." She frowned playfully, breaking her eyes away from his.  
"Your humour doesn't disarm me." He said defiantly, chasing her gaze.  
"It does a little bit." She smirked.  
"Ok, a bit." He laughed, kissing her and allowing her weight to push him back into the sofa so she laid on top of him.  
She sank into him, feeling his lips touch against hers. As his breath deepened in time with his ever-wanting kisses, she backed away slightly, curling a smile at his sudden confusion.  
"Disarmed." She whispered with pride.  
He dismissed her words with a momentary frown, then placed a hand at the small of her back and pulled her close against him.  
"I've got you right where I want you."

\----------------

She tidied away the pizza box, taking it into the kitchen as he followed with their empty wine glasses. She laughed to herself as she thought about how much had changed in just a few hours.

"Today has been weird." She turned to him and rested her arms on his shoulders.  
"Tell me about it, I did a funeral this afternoon."  
"What?" She backed away, trying to read him. "Really?"  
"Yeah…" he shrugged, holding her waist in his arms. "You actually helped me with it, believe it or not."  
"Ok…" her eyes asked all the questions she had.  
"Your last letter." He said, unsure why the sadness he felt over it lingered still. "It just…" he shrugged. "I couldn't find the words to say, but they were right there. You gave them to me."

She watched him as his mind took him back to that place, not twelve hours before. The heartbreak and pain, though healed now through their reunion, had left their mark. That morning he'd been a priest. Now, he didn't know.

"Is this going to be too hard for you?" She asked, concerned for his wellbeing more than the precarious beginnings of whatever their relationship was.  
"It'll be hard." he said honestly. "It will be. But I don't want to go back to that life if it means I can't have you in it."

She smiled gently at his confidence in his decision. 

"So," he continued, leading her back to the living room. "I'll either become an Anglican priest…" he winced a little at the unfamiliar thought. "...or I'll use this as an opportunity to find out if I want to do something else with my life." His mind wandered back to the words Mary had said about her father; changing careers at a late age and never regretting it.  
"Oh yeah, like what?" She asked with interest.  
"Oh I don't know…" he shrugged with a thoughtful expression. "...a school counsellor maybe!" He laughed to himself. Her confusion was evident, but he would explain it to her another day. 

"But for now…" he spun around to face her. "...I just want to be with you." He kissed her lips softly.  
"Done." She smiled gently.  
"And get to know you…" his lips traced the curve of her cheek, his teeth nipping gently at her ear.  
"Mm-hmm." She breathed heavily.  
"And we'll fuck like rabbits…" he ran a hand up the back of her top and smoothly unhooked her bra.

"Oh fuck I forgot!" She pushed him away and ran towards her bedroom.  
"What the fuck!" He protested loudly, arms wide and gesturing to his growing erection.  
"I've got a present for you! It'll be worth it I promise!" Her words came back muffled from her bedroom.  
"Unless it's you completely naked, I'm not interested!" He shouted back, making steps towards her room as she returned, fully clothed, but grinning widely.

"I don't think this relationship is going to work." He sulked when he saw her.  
"Here you go." She passed him an envelope, ignoring his fake bad mood. 

He recognised it immediately. 

"No…" he grinned, laughing as he pulled out three Polaroid photos.  
"Interested now?" She watched him as his eyes skimmed across the photos.  
An involuntary noise escaped his lips as he took in the sight of her photographic strip-tease. He bit his lip and looked back to her. She stood in front of him with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly how to push his buttons.  
His confidence matched hers as he responded.  
"Ok." He said with a firm nod. "Get your coat, you've pulled." He gestured with his head to her bedroom.  
She raised an eyebrow and turned to her room.  
"Oh no, I'm serious." He stopped her. "Get the coat. You owe me a striptease."


End file.
